# 


SHEA  BROS., 

PALACE  BOOK,  STATIONERY 
AND  ART  STORE, 

I School' Supplies  a Specialty, 

No.  IS  King  St., 
TROY,  N.  Y. 


THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

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1 Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
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SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


NEW  YORK: 

WORTHINGTON  CO.,  747  BROADWAY. 

1889. 


CONTENTS 


Crapteb 

I.  North  Leach  . . , ^ 

II.  Major  Braddock’s  Dinner  • 

III.  Thrown  out  , . . 

IV.  “ Lincoln  Spring  ” . . , 

V.  The  Hunt  Steeplechase  , 

VI.  Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe 

VII.  Furzedon  Starts  on  His  War-Path 

VIII.  Lady  Ramsbury’s  Garden-Party 

IX.  A Little  Game  at  Billiards 

X.  In  Onslow  Gardens  . • 

XI.  A Waif  on  Life’s  Stream 

XII.  Bob  Braddock’s  Conditions  • 

XIII.  Seeking  a Commission  . 

XIV.  Charlie  on  Probation  , , 

XV.  Entered  for  the  Army 

XVI.  Dearest  Friends  “May*’  Differ 

XVII.  Bellaton  Wold 
XVIII.  Trial  of  Belisarius  , • 

XIX.  In  the  Gazette 
XX.  The  Two  Thousand 
XXL  “ You  Shall  Never  Marry  Him  I ** 
XXII,  Mr.  Black’s  Tip 
XXIII.  Charlie’s  Summoned  to  Town 

XXIV.  Sam  Prance  at  Home 

XXV.  Kate  Kynaston  Reconnoitres 

XXVI.  Furzedon  Proposes  . . 

XXVII.  News  from  Bellaton  Wold  , 
XXVIII.  Dire  Misgivings  . • . 

XXIX.  The  Great  Epsom  Race 

XXX.  Raising  the  Wind  . 

XXXI.  Furzedon  Returns  to  the  Charge 
XXXII.  In  the  Usurer’s  Fangs 
XXXIII.  Shere  Ali  the  Dacoit 
XXXIV.  Doings  on  the  Knavesmirb  • 
XXXV.  The  St.  Leger  . 

XXXVI.  Sinister  Rumours  . . . 

XXXVII.  Major  Kynaston’s  Visitor 
XXXVIII.  Shere  Ali  Vanishes 
XXXIX.  An  Enemy  Hath  Done  This  Thing 
XL.  A Mutual  Understanding 
' XLI.  Charlie’s  Baptism  of  Fire 

XLII.  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  Disappointment 
XLIII.  “ Good-Bye,  Sweetheart,  Good-Bye 
XLIV.  Hobson  Recovers  the  Trail 
XLV.  Furzedon  Leaves  England  . 

XLVI.  “ Let  Him  Be  Given  to  the  Flies 
XLVII.  The  Rocks  of  Ruggerbund  . , 

XLVIII.  Prance’s  Vengeance  . • 

Conclusion  < 


Pagw 
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lO 
. i8 

26 
. 34 

41 

. 49 

57 
. 65 

72 

• 79 

85 

. 93 

100 
. 107 

115 

, 121 

129 
. 136 

141 

. 150 

158 
. 166 

173 

, 180 

187 
. 195 

201 
, 208 
215 

, 222 
229 
. 226 
244 
. 252 

259 

. 266 

273 

. 280 

287 
. 295 

304 

• 309 
317 

. 324 

• 337 
344 

• 35* 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


I. — North  Leach. 

Nestling  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  long  undulations 
of  the  Lincolnshire  Wolds  stood  a large,  many- 
gabled,  irregular  house,  a house  wont  to  puzzle  the  traveller 
as  to  what  manner  of  man  might  be  its  owner.  It  was  too 
big  for  a farmhouse,  nor  did  it  look  in  the  least  like  a 
rectory  ; moreover,  nothing  stood  near  it  but  some  three  or 
four  labourers’  cottages.  As  you  looked  closer  you  became 
conscious  that  the  central  portion  was  most  substantially 
built,  and  evidently  of  older  date  than  the  wings,  which 
had  apparently  been  added  to  it  later.  One  peculiarity 
about  it,  rather  striking  in  a house  of  this  size,  was  that  it 
was  thatched,  neatly  and  very  trimly  thatched,  no  doubt, 
but  still  that  was  a roof  you  would  have  hardly  expected 
to  find  on  a house  of  this  class.  North  Leach,  as  the  place 
was  called,  had  been  the  home  of  the  Devereux  for  cer- 
tainly something  like  four  centuries.  There  they  had  farmed 
some  four  hundred  acres  of  their  own  so  successfully  that 
they  had  now  for  many  years  rented  an  adjoining  farm  of 
some  seven  or  eight  hundred  acres,  a property  of  the  great 
territorial  magnate  of  that  part  of  Lincolnshire.  Tliis  was 
farming  on  a large  scale ; but,  although  the  times  were  not 
so  prosperous  for  agriculturists  as  during  the  days  of  the 
tremendous  struggle  with  Napoleon,  still  things  were  very 
flourishing.  The  farmers,  albeit  the  Corn  Laws  had  been 
repealed,  made  money  hand  over  hand,  and  lived  royally. 
Old  Tom  Devereux  kept  so  many  horses  of  one  kind  and 
another  at  North  Leach,  that  gossip  had  it  that  Mrs.  Dev- 
ereux was  always  asked  whether  she  would  have  four  grays, 
browns,  chestnuts,  or  what  not  for  Doncaster  races,  a 
festival  which  the  Devereux  had  attended  with  the  utmost 
regularity  for  many  years. 


8cic>8k!3 


4 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Tlic  present  generation  of  the  family  had  been  brought 
up  in  very  different  fashion  from  their  predecessors.  Both 
sons  had  been  to  Cambridge,  while  Lettice  Devereux  had 
had  everything  that  masters  and  a fashionable  school  could 
do  for  her.  As  for  riding,  there  never  was  a Devereux  that 
could  not  ride.  Both  the  men  and  women  of  the  family 
were  thoroughly  at  home  in  the  saddle,  and  well-known  as 
amongst  the  best  and  boldest  riders  with  the  Brocklesby. 
In  front  of  the  house,  indeed,  running  round  three  sides  of 
it,  and  just  beyond  the  gardens  and  shrubberies  which 
immediately  surrounded  it,  was  what  was  called  ‘‘  the 
paddock,’'  a large  grass  field  of  about  fifty  acres,  virgin 
turf  which  had  never  known  the  ploughshare.  Along  one 
side  of  it  were  various  artificial  fences,  such  as  are  used 
for  schooling  purposes ; for  the  making  of  hunters  was 
always  being  pursued  at  North  Leach  with  great  assiduity. 
Neither  Tom  Devereux  nor  his  sons  could  be  correctly 
designated  horse-dealers,  but  when  you  have  such  a quan- 
tity of  horses  as  were  required  for  the  work  of  a farm,  to 
say  nothing  of  a long  string  of  hunters  and  carriage  horses, 
it  stands  to  reason  that  there  must  necessarily  be  a good 
deal  of  buying  and  selling  connected  with  the  establish- 
ment. Further,  there  were  a few  brood  mares  at  North 
Leach,  aud,  consequently,  a certain  amount  of  young 
stock,  some  of  which  usually  had  to  be  disposed  of.  There 
was  one  thing  certain  at  the  big  farm,  they  could  utilise 
horseflesh  in  a great  number  of  ways,  and  if  a horse  gave 
no  promise  of  making  a hunter,  there  were  many  other 
paths  in  life  to  which  he  could  be  introduced. 

Inside,  the  house  was,  as  might  be  expected,  a roomy, 
comfortable  old  building,  which  had  been  most  judiciously 
modernised.  In  the  central,  or  original  house,  so  to  speak, 
the  rooms  were  low,  with  black  oak  panelling,  and  floors 
to  match ; but  in  the  wings  the  rooms  were  far  more  lofty, 
and  a very  pleasant  drawing-room  in  the  one  wing  was 
balanced  by  an  equally  comfortable  billiard-room  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hall. 

At  the  time  my  story  opens,  John  Devereux,  the  eldest 
son,  had  left  the  University  some  two  years,  and  had 
feteadily  settled  down  as  his  father’s  partner ; not  but  what 


NORTH  LEACH. 


5 


old  Tom  Devereux  was  a hale,  hearty  man  of  his  years 
yet ; but  men  do  not,  as  a rule,  ride  quite  so  hard  to  hounds 
at  sixty  as  they  do  in  the  days  of  their  hot  youth.  We  all 
learn  to  take  our  pleasures  more  soberly,  and  it  is  well  for 
us,  too,  if  we  can  take  our  work  somewhat  more  leisurely. 
The  overlooking  of  two  such  farms  as  North  Leach  and 
the  adjacent  one,  held  upon  lease,  involves  a considerable 
amount  of  hard  work,  and  Tom  Devereux  was  well  pleased 
when  his  son  settled  down  to  follow  steadily  in  his  foot- 
steps. There  had  been  times  when  he  had  somewhat 
doubted  the  wisdom  of  having  allowed  his  sons  to  go  to 
the  University — at  all  events  the  eldest  ; he  had  been 
afraid  it  might  unsettle  him,  and  give  him  a distaste  for 
the  calling  of  a yeoman  farmer ; and  then  the  old  man  had 
thought  solemnly  of  what  was  to  become  of  the  land  if 
there  was  no  one  to  take  his  place  when  he  was  gone.  He 
was  fond  of  the  old  acres  that  had  come  down  to  him 
through  so  many  generations  of  Devereux.  He  had  made 
his  money  out  of  the  land,  and  respected  it  accordingly. 
Moreover,  he  was  as  honestly  proud  and  fond  of  the  old 
home  of  his  family  as  any  noble  in  the  land  could  be  of 
the  stately  mansion  transmitted  to  him  through  a long  line 
of  ancestors. 

A gray  November  day  is  closing  in  as  Lettice  Devereux 
enters  the  drawing-room,  and  promptly  rings  for  tea.  She 
is  soon  seated  in  a comfortable  armchair  in  front  of  the 
glowing  fire,  in  lazy  enjoyment  of  that  luxury.  A sharp 
gallop  with  the  hounds  that  morning  has  induced  a pleasant 
langour,  which  now  that  she  has  changed  her  dress,  she 
feels  justified  in  indulging  in.  She  is  already  half  asleep, 
when  the  door  opens  abruptly,  and  her  brother  in  well- 
splashed  boots  and  well-stained  pink  enters  the  room. 

“ Hulloa,  Lettice,”  he  exclaimed,  “ what  became  of  you? 
You  didn’t  come  to  grief  of  any  kind  with  the  young  one, 
did  you  ? But  I missed  you  just  after  that  rattling  burst 
we  had  in  the  morning  ; and  though  we  were  lucky  enough 
to  find  an  afternoon  fox,  who  gave  us  a very  decent  run,  I 
never  caught  sight  of  your  habit  again.” 

‘‘  No,  John,”  rejoined  the  girl,  laughing,  “ and  I will  tell 
you  why.  That  four-year-old  has  the  makings  of  as  good 


6 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


a hunter  as  we  have  got  in  the  stable.  He  carried  me 
beautifully,  and  made  never  a mistake  at  his  fences  all  the 
morning.  But  when  we  trotted  off  to  look  for  that  second 
fox,  he  began  to  blunder  a good  deal.  And  the  reason 
was  obvious,  the  horse  was  tired  ; quite  reason  enough  for 
taking  him  home.  We  all  know  nothing  breaks  the  heart 
of  a young  one  so  much  as  asking  him  to  go  on  when  he  is 
tired.” 

Ah ! you  really  think  well  of  the  young  one  then,  do 
you?”  said  John  Devereux  with  evident  interest,  as  he 
sipped  his  tea. 

“ I do,”  replied  Lettice,  and  what  is  more,  I have  an 
idea  that  he  has  a great  turn  of  speed.  I think  it  would 
be  quite  worth  your  while  at  the  end  of  the  hunting  season 
to  try  him.  I think  you  will  find  that  he  is  rather  above 
hunter  class.” 

“ We  shall  see,”  replied  John.  “ Anyway  your  schooling 
will  go  a great  way  towards  the  completion  of  his  educa- 
tion. Have  you  heard  from  Charlie,  and  when  is  he  com- 
ing down  ? ” 

“ Next  week.  Do  you  know  anything  of  this  Mr. 
Furzedon  that  he  is  bringing  with  him  ?” 

“ No.  You  see  although  Charlie  and  I certainly  just 
were  together  at  Cambridge,  I was  a good  bit  before  his 
time.  I was  leaving  just  as  he  came  up,  and  during  the 
term  or  two  we  were  there  together,  our  sets  were  very 
different.  As  for  this  fellow,  Furzedon,  I never  heard  of 
him,  but  he  is  evidently  a great  pal  of  Charlie’s;  at  all 
events  he  can  ride  a bit,  and  therefore  we  shall  have  no 
trouble  about  making  him  happy  here,  as  long  as  the 
horses  hold  out ; and  if  he  wants  a breather  after  part- 
ridges, goodness  knows  we’ve  plenty  of  them,  although  it 
takes  hard  walking  to  pick  up  a few  brace  now.” 

“I've  no  doubt  we  can  make  it  pleasant  enough  for  Mr. 
Furzedon,”  rejoined  Lettice.  “I  am  bound  to  say  that 
most  of  the  friends  you  and  Charlie  ask  here  generally 
seem  excessively  pleased  with  the  amusements  we  provide 
for  them,  and  I have  very  little  doubt  Mr.  Furzedon  will 
fall  into  our  grooves  quite  as  naturally  as  the  rest  of  them.” 
“Well,  now  Fm  off,”  rejoined  John  Devereux,  “to  ex- 


NORTH  LEACH. 


7 


change  my  dirty  boots,  etc.,  for  more  civilised  garments.” 
And  so  saying,  he  left  his  sister  to  enjoy  her  second  cup  of 
tea,  and  indulge  in  dreamy  reflection. 

Miss  Devereux  was  so  far  very  well  satisfied  with  her  lot 
in  life.  A high-spirited  girl  of  twenty,  disposed  to  make 
the  best  of  everything,  she  found  her  home  life  very  enjoy- 
able. There  was  always  plenty  to  amuse  her  about  the 
farm,  and,  although  North  Leach  was  rather  an  isolated 
residence,  yet  people  in  those  parts  had  generally  full 
stables,  and  made  little  of  distances,  and  thought  nothing 
of  a ten  or  twelve  mile  drive  to  a country  ball  or  other 
revel.  Balls,  it  is  true,  were  not  very  numerous  ; but  then 
Lettice,  though  she  could  throw  her  heart  and  soul  into  a 
dance,  was  by  no  means  hungry  for  such  entertainments. 
As  for  the  winter  time,  the  prevalent  feeling  in  those  parts 
was,  as  Whyte  Melville  puts  it,  that  “ the  business  of  life 
was  to  hunt  every  day ; ” and  Lattice  dearly  loved  a good 
gallop.  As  she  sat  lazily  there  in  front  of  the  fire,  she  was 
speculating  a good  deal  on  the  return  of  her  favourite 
brother.  She  was  very  fond  of  John,  but  his  quiet,  sedate 
manner  did  not  accord  with  her  own  mirth-loving  nature, 
like  Charlie’s.  John  was  some  six  or  seven  years  older 
than  herself,  but  might  have  been,  from  the  grave,  serious 
way  in  which  he  took  both  his  work  and  his  pleasure,  a 
score  of  years  her  senior.  It  was  difficult  to  work  John  up 
to  great  enthusiasm  about  anything ; his  cool  head  never 
seemed  to  lose  its  balance  for  one  moment ; such  high 
spirits  as  at  times  possessed  herself  and  Charlie  never  ran 
away  with  John.  She  did  not  trouble  her  head  very  much 
about  this  Mr.  Furzedon,  although  her  brother  had  been 
very  lull  of  him  during  the  last  few  months.  Truth  to  tell, 
she  was  thinking  more  about  how  well  her  horse  had  carried 
her  than  anything  else. 

Seated  in  the  sitting-room  of  a quiet  lodging  in  Duke 
Street,  smoking  a short  pipe,  was  a fair-haired,  blue-eyed 
young  fellow,  gazing  into  the  fire,  and  evidently  deeply 
absorbed  in  thought.  Thoughts  not  of  the  pleasantest, 
apparently,  to  judge  from  the  knit  brows  and  somewhat 
serious  aspect  of  the  young  face. 

“ What  an  ass  I have  been,”  muttered  Charlie  Devereux 


8 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


as  he  puffed  savagely  at  his  pipe.  “ I wish  to  Heaven  I’d 
never  let  Furzedon  persuade  me  to  go  to  Newmarket.  I 
have  had  a bet  before,  of  course,  but  I never  went  regu- 
larly in  for  it  till  this  time,  and  three  such  meetings  as  I’ve 
had  are  enough  to  break  any  one  ; indeed,  if  it  hadn’t  been 
for  Furzedon’s  help,  I should  have  been  unable  to  settle. 
Bad  form,  too,  borrowing  money  from  a pal,  and  as  to  pay- 
ing him,  there’s  only  one  thing  for  it.  I must  sell  the 
hunters.  It  is  rough,  but  as  he  is  coming  down  to  North 
Leach  to  hunt  with  me,  I suppose  he’ll  let  me  have  two  or 
three  months  of  them  before  the  sacrifice.  However,  even 
then,  if  I’m  bid  a good  price  I shall  have  to  take  it.  I 
wonder  whether  they  have  anything  at  home  they  will  let 
me  have  the  riding  of.” 

None  knew  better  than  Charlie  that  the  big  London 
dealers  always  had  their  eye  upon  North  Leach*  Many  a 
letter  did  Tom  Devereux  get  in  the  course  of  the  season  to 
know  whether  he  had  a hunter  or  two  that  he  was  disposed 
to  part  with.  The  dealers  knew  very  well  that  when  a horse 
from  North  Leach  was  guaranteed  a made  hunter,  they 
could  perfectly  rely  that  it  was  so.  And  for  an  animal  of 
that  description  a London  dealer  invariably  has  a market. 
There  are  plenty  of  his  wealthy  customers  who  would 
always  sooner  trust  to  his  judgment  than  their  own,  and 
have  no  objection  to  pay  the  extra  price. 

“ Well,”  thought  Charlie  with  all  the  elasticity  of  youth, 
“ it  will  be  very  jolly  to  have  a real  good  gossip  with  Let- 
tice,  and  to  have  a good  time  with,  the  Brocklesbys.  I 
never  think  hunting  so  good  anywhere  as  it  is  in  my  ‘ ain 
countree.’”  Here  his  reflections  were  interrupted  by  a 
sharp  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  appearance  of  a tall  dark 
young  man  with  a florid  countenance,  and  slightly  Semitic 
nose. 

What,  Charlie,  all  in  the  downs  1”  he  said,  “ what  non- 
sense ! It  is  no  use  being  down  in  your  luck  because 
you’ve  had  a facer ; besides,  it’s  all  squared  up  now.  Let’s 
dine  together,  have  a bottle  of  champagne,  and  then  go  off 
to  the  theatre.  I’ve  got  all  my  business  done  in  London, 
and  am  good  now  to  go  down  to  North  Leach  with  you 


NORTH  LEACH.  9 

whenever  you  like,  and  what’s  more  we  ought  not  to  lose 
such  beautifully  open  weather  as  this.” 

So  the  two  dined  at  Limmer’s,  and  the  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, as  was  only  natural,  expanded  into  two,  and  then 
they  adjourned  to  the  Strand  Theatre,  and  were  convulsed 
with  laughter  at  one  of  the  burlesques  which  characterised 
those  palmy  days  of  the  Strand.  I am  writing  of  a good 
many  years  ago,  when  night-houses  existed  in  the  Hay- 
market,  and  in  pursuit  of  that  very  questionable  experience, 
the  seeing  of  life,  it  was  deemed  incumbent  on  the  young 
men  of  the  day  to  drop  into  two  or  three,  before  returning 
home.  Inferior  alcohol,  and  the  most  dubious  company, 
male  and  female,  was  all  the  entertainment  that  these  dens 
afforded,  but  then  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do,  and  in  our 
younger  days  there  are  very  few  of  us  who  do  not  deem 
that  sufficient  reason  for  the  committal  of  any  absurdity. 

Furzedon  and  Charlie  Devereux,  of  course,  thought  it 
necessary  to  have  a lobster  or  some  oysters  at  one  of  these 
houses,  and  as  they  sallied  out  after  having  their  supper,  a 
dilapidated  man  suddenly  exclaimed  : “ Ah,  Furzedon — I 
beg  pardon,  Mr.  Furzedon — you’re  good  I’m  sure  to  stand 
a sovereign  to  an  old  pal  who  is  down  in  his  luck.” 

Furzedon ’s  eyes  gleamed  dangerously  in  the  gaslight  for 
a moment  as  he  retorted  in  stern  measured  tones,  “ I don’t 
know  who  you  are,  but  I do  know  that  youTl  get  never  a 
sixpence  from  me  to-night.” 

“ D’ye  hear  him,  mates  ?”  replied  the  dilapidated  one, 
addressing  some  three  or  four  similar  birds  of  ill-omen, 
who  were  hanging  about  the  entrance  of  the  house  in  ques- 
tion. “ Pretty  conduct  this  to  expect  from  a fellow  who 
was  your  intimate  friend,  and  for  whom  you  did  some 
tolerable  dirty  work  no  very  short  time  ago.” 

“ Shame,  shame,”  cried  the  ragged  chorus,  why  don’t 
you  stand  to  the  gentleman  now  he  is  down  in  his  luck  ?” 
Keenly  alive,  these  supporters  of  the  sturdy  mendicant,  to 
the  probability  of  “ glasses  round,”  should  he  succeed  in 
extorting  that  sovereign  from  the  “ swell.” 

Close  up,  Charlie,”  said  Furzedon  in  a low  voice. 

These  curs  are  going  to  rush  us,  and  see  what  they  can 
make  of  turning  our  pockets  out.  Just  follow  my  lead. 


to 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


soon  as  that  scoundrel  comes  up  with  his  whining  petition 
again,  I shall  let  him  have  it  hot.  Hit  out  at  once  all  you 
know,  and  we  shall  be  through  them,  and  into  a hansom 
in  less  than  two  minutes.  In  the  meantime  do  as  I do.” 
And  Mr.  Furzedon  rapidly  buttoned  his  overcoat  up  tightly. 
Another  moment,  and  the  suppliant  for  relief  advanced 
with  an  impudent  leer,  and  said,  Come,  Mr.  Furzedon, 
we  don’t  part  like  this.  I’m  not  going  to  want  a sovereign 
while  your  pockets  are  well  lined.” 

“ Ah  ! you  think  so,”  replied  Furzedon,  with  a low  laugh. 
‘‘  I told  you  you  should  get  nothing  from  me  to-night.  I 
lied;  you  shall,”  and  taking  a step  forward,  Furzedon  let 
go  his  left  straight  and  true  from  the  shoulder,  and  stretched 
the  luckless  mendicant  well-nigh  senseless  on  the  pave- 
ment. There  was  a rapid  rush  of  his  companions,  but  the 
quick,  straight,  determined  hitting  of  Furzedon  and  Charlie 
speedily  dissipated  that  attempt  at  plunder,  and  in  another 
minute  the  pair  were  driving  rapidly  home  to  their  lodg- 
ings in  Duke  Street. 

Nothing  perhaps  in  the  episode  of  a mere  night  row  in 
the  Haymarket  to  influence  the  destiny  of  anybody  con- 
nected with  this  history,  and  yet  it  is  these  very  small 
events  that  so  often  bear  curiously  upon  our  lives.  Had 
Furzedon  given  the  unfortunate  outcast  of  the  Haymarket 
a sovereign,  instead  of  a blow,  it  would  probably  have 
made  a considerable  difference  in  the  course  of  his  life. 


II. — Major  Braddock’s  Dinner. 

The  Strangers’  room  at  the  Thermopolium  was  very  full, 
and  there  was  much  talk  and  laughter  going  on  at  the 
various  little  tables  as  the  wine  passed  merrily  round  them ; 
but,  perhaps,  from  none  did  the  laughter  ripple  more  freely 
than  from  a round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  around 
which  half-a-dozen  men  were  gathered,  the  guests  of  jolly 
Major  Braddock.  The  Major  was  in  his  eleoient  ; he  was 
never  more  happy  than  when  giving  a little  dinner ; he 


MAJO*R  BRADDOCK'S  DINNER. 


II 


flattered  himself  that  he  knew  how  to  do  it,  and,  what  was 
more  to  the  point,  he  did.  Looking  at  his  rubicund  face 
and  portly  figure,  it  was  difficult  how  to  imagine  the  Major 
a smart  officer  of  Hussars,  and  yet,  ten  years  before,  when 
he  finally  doffed  the  pelisse,  he  was  as  good-looking  a 
dragoon  as  ever  wore  sabretache. 

But  a man  naturally  a bo7i  v'lvant,  and  who  gives  himself 
free  licence  in  the  matter  of  good  living,  and  who  is  not 
given  in  any  way  to  field  sports,  rapidly  puts  on  weight 
after  he  has  turned  thirty.  The  Major  was  comfortably 
off,  and  when  he  sold  out  subsided  at  once  into  a man 
about  town.  The  giving  and  partaking  of  little  dinners 
entered  prominently  into  the  scheme  of  his  life,  and  it  was 
now  well  known  that  an  invitation  from  Bob  Braddock 
was  not  a thing  to  be  lightly  declined  ; nor,  on  the  other 
^hand,  was  he  a man  to  whom  an  invitation  was  to  be  lightly 
issued.  It  was  well  known  through  Clubland  that  Bob 
Braddock’s  verdict  on  a dinner  was  unimpeachable,  and 
there  were  some  one  or  two  of  those  monarchical  institutions 
which  he  specially  tabooed,  saying  that  it  was  a positive 
insult  to  ask  anything  but  a raw  boy  to  partake  of  food 
within  their  gates  while  they  kept  such  an  atrocious  cook. 

“ Ha — ha  !”  laughed  the  Major,  and  it  was  one  of  those 
mellow  laughs  which  almost  instinctively  carried  the 
hearers  away  with  it.  “ What  times  those  were  ! What 
constitutions  we  all  had  in  those  days,  and,  heaven  help  us, 
how  shamefully  ignorant  we  were  on  the  subject  of  wine 
and  cookery!  Just  you  try  that  champagne,  Norman, 
Here,  waiter,  get  Mr.  Slade  a clean  glass;  don’t  be  afraid 
of  it ; there’s  no  gout  in  it,  and  even  if  there  is,  upon  my 
soul  it’s  worth  risking  an  attack  for.” 

Norman  Slade,  a dark,  wiry  little  man,  whose  age  defied 
all  conjecture,  filled  his  glass  gravely,  and,  as  he  tasted  it, 
said  : “ Yes,  it’s  rare  good  stuff,  but  you  ought  to  have  laid 
the  foundation  of  podagra  pretty  substantially  by  this  time.” 

“ Yes,  it  was  the  Exhibition  year,  and  they  wanted  some 
cavalry  just  to  show  off  before  the  big  swells  who  came 
over  to  see  Paxton’s  glass-house,”  continued  the  Major. 
“ So  they  brigaded  five  regiments  of  light  cavalry  at  Houns- 
low, and,  you  may  guess,  with  all  that  going  on  in  London, 


12 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


that  the  way  us  young  ones  streamed  up  to  town  fevefy  day 
was  a caution.  Except  the  unhappy  subaltern  for  the  day, 
I should  think  there  wasn’t  an  officer  left  in  any  one  of  the 
regiments.” 

“ And  you  were  the  fellows  the  rest  of  us  were  paying 
taxes  to  provide  for.” 

“ Of  course  you  were,”  retorted  the  Major.  We  looked 
well,  were  full  of  go,  and  did  very  well  for  ornamental  pur- 
poses, which  was  all  you  wanted  in  those  days.  We  didn’t 
do  so  badly  either  in  the  Crimea  as  long  as  it  lasted  ; the 
worst  of  it  was  we  were  so  soon  used  up.  However,  they 
don’t  stand  those  sort  of  larks  now ; do  they,  Bertie  !” 

‘‘  Well,”  replied  the  young  man  addressed,  ‘‘  I don’t 
think  the  authorities  would  stand  some  of  the  things  you’ve 
been  recounting.” 

Bertie  Slade  was  nephew  to  both  these  gentlemen.* 
Norman’s  brother  had  married  a Miss  Braddock,  and  hence 
the  connection  ; and,  different  as  the  two  men  were,  was, 
strange  to  say,  an  equal  favourite  with  both  of  them.  No 
greater  contrast  than  the  two  brothers-in-law  could  be  con- 
ceived. The  one,  open-hearted,  full  of  jest  and  story,  with 
the  art  of  dining  as  the  main  pursuit  of  his  life.  The 
other,  a quiet,  self-contained,  reticent  man,  whose  passion 
was  the  Turf,  with  a dry,  caustic  wit  of  his  own,  who  often 
dribbled  out  a thing  that  brought  down  the  laugh  of  the 
smoking-room  of  the  club  to  which  he  was  affiliated. 
Capable,  too,  of  biting  sarcasm,  if  exasperated,  and  it  was 
not  very  difficult  to  move  Norman  Slade’s  wrath. 

“ Just  one  more  glass  of  claret,”  said  the  Major,  “ or  a 
glass  of  Madeira  if  you  prefer  it,  while  I relate  another 
reminiscence  of  those  times.  As  I have  said,  we  all 
trooped  up  to  London  pretty  well  every  day.  Well,  in 
those  days,  there  was  a very  famous  supper-house  just  off 
the  Haymarket,  which  was  much  frequented  by  the 
soldiers.  Indeed,  if  ever  Her  Majesty’s  officers,  to  speak 
metaphorically,  ever  did  rally  around  the  old  flag,  it  was 
that  particular  supper-house  in  ’51.  The  precious  insti- 
tution has  long  since  disappeared,  but,  about  three  in  the 
morning  in  those  days,  you  were  sure  to  find  fellows  from 
Woolwich,  men  fron)  Hounslow,  all  anxious  to  pick  up 


MAJOR  BRADDOCK'S  DINNER.  1 3 

some  one  to  share  a hansom  home.  Indeed,  as  far  as  the 
Hounslow  division,  as  they  called  us,  went,  we  formed  a 
perfect  procession  of  hansoms ; constantly  ten  or  a dozen 
of  them  proceeding  in  file  past  Hyde  Park  Corner  on  their 
way  to  our  quarters.  Well,  there  was  constantly  con- 
siderable difference  about  the  fares  when  we  arrived  at 
Hounslow.  The  cabbies  invariably  argued  that  they  had 
waited  a good  bit  for  us,  and  then  demanded  an  excessive 
tariff  for  the  time  at  which  we  employed  them.  Now, 
remember  the  prize  ring  was  by  no  means  dead  in  Eng- 
land in  those  days,  and  most  of  us  had  more  or  less 
learnt  to  use  our  hands  pretty  smartly ; a turn  up  or  two 
with  the  cabman  became  at  last  quite  an  orthodox  finish 
to  an  evening,  and  we  seldom  came  home  without  a fare 
or  two  being  referred  to  the  arbitration  of  battle.  No  need 
to  tell  you  that  the  London  cabman  is  pretty  wide  awake, 
and,  as  our  fellows  invariably  went  on  the  double-or-quits 
system,  the  Hounslow  lot  were  soon  taken  up  by  some 
pretty  clever  bruisers  amongst  them.  Well,  it  was  a bright 
June  morning,  about  five  o’clock,  and  the  cabmen  were  in 
great  feather  ; they  had  sent  down  that  night  a couple  of 
semi-professionals,  and  two  or  three  of  our  best  men  had 
been  handsomely  polished  off.  We’d  a big  empty  barrack 
room,  containing  nothing  but  some  empty  wine-cases, 
where  these  little  differences  were  adjusted.  They  were 
glove  fights,  you  must  remember,  so  that  our  fellows  didn’t 
get  so  dreadfully  marked  as  you  might  suppose.  It  was 
all  over,  the  successful  cabmen  had  carried  away  their 
double  fares,  and  were  gone,  when  the  attention  of  those 
who  were  left  of  us  was  suddenly  called  to  Jerry  Moclerce. 
I and  one  or  two  others  recollected  seeing  him  at  the 
beginning  of  the  scrimmage  struggling  with  a small  cabman 
in  the  corner,  but  we  had  all  been  too  absorbed  in  the 
fight  to  take  further  note  of  his  proceedings.  Now  he  was 
sitting  on  a champagne-case  mopping  his  brows  with  a 
cambric  handkerchief,  and  exclaiming,  in  maundering  tones, 
‘ Oh,  dear,  what  a time  I’ve  had  of  it ! Do,  for  goodness’ 
sake,  get  me  a hammer  and  a few  nails,  some  of  you  fel- 
lows.’ * What’s  the  matter,  Jerry  ? ’ we  exclaimed  ; 
‘ what’s  the  matter,  old  maq  ? ’ ‘ Oh,  dear,  what  an  evening 


14 


saddle  and  sabre. 


I’ve  had/  in  half-crying  tones.  ‘What  a trouble  he  has 
been  to  me  ; for  heaven’s  sake  get  me  a hammer  and  nails.* 
‘ What  do  you  want — what’s  the  matter  ? ’ we  cried.  ‘ Oh, 
don’t,’  he  cried,  still  half- weeping ; ‘ oh,  dear,  what  a time 
I’ve  had.  You  never  saw  such  a disagreeable  little  beggar.’ 
‘What  do  you  mean,  Jerry — what  is  it?*  ‘The  little 
beast,’  he  replied,  in  a broken  voice  ; ‘ he  wouldn’t  go  into 
the  case,  though  I told  him  I wanted  to  send  him  to  my 
mother.  It’ll  please  the  dear  old  lady.  But  I’ve  got  him  in 
at  last,  thank  goodness  ; do  help  me  nail  him  down  at  once, 
the  discontented  little  brute  ! I can  feel  him  still  wriggling 
about.*  ‘ Do  you  mean  to  say,’  we  cried,  ‘ that  you’ve  got 
a man  in  the  case?*  ‘Got  him  in,’ he  returned,  lugu- 
briously, ‘ yes,  and  it  has  taken  me  the  whole  night  to  get 
him  there.  Now  do,  like  good  fellows,  bring  the  nails  and 
a direction  card.’  But  here  we  thought  it  was  high  time  to 
intervene.  Jerry,  who  had  retained  a high  state  of  maudlin 
drunkenness,  was  carried  off  to  bed,  earnestly  requesting 
that  the  case  might  be  sent  by  the  first  train  in  the 
morning  to  his  mother.  Of  course,  we  deuced  soon  had 
the  top  off  the  case,  and  high  time,  for  the  small  cabman 
inside  was  quite  past  making  any  further  efforts  on  his  own 
account.  Indeed,  it  required  the  help  of  a doctor  to  bring 
him  round,  and  a handsome  solatium  on  Jerry’s  part  to 
hush  up  the  business.  Poor  Jerry  ! A shell  at  Balaklava, 
as  I daresay  some  of  you  know,  killed  as  good  a fellow  as 
ever  crossed  saddle.  Now,  gentlemen,  come  along,  and 
we’ll  have  a cigar  and  coffee  downstairs.” 

“ Well,  Bertie,  how’s  the  regiment  getting  on  ? Still  in 
its  chronic  state  of  difficulties  as  regards  ways  and  means 
as  of  yore,  I suppose  ? ” 

“Yes,”  replied  Gilbert  Slade,  laughing;  “we  still  hold 
a ten-pound  note  in  much  veneration,  but,  fortunately,  we 
are  not  tried  quite  so  high  at  Aldershot  as  they  were  in 
the  days  of  your  Hounslow  campaign.  The  powers  that 
be  don’t  stand  such  incessant  running  up  to  town — a 
restriction  which,  though  unpleasant,  keeps  us  afloat.” 

Gilbert  Slade  was  a subaltern  in  his  uncle’s  old  corps, 
and,  of  course,  amongst  the  seniors  were  several  who  had 
been  in  the  re^ment  with  him.  Besides,  the  Major  never 


MAJOR  BRADDOCK’S  DINNER. 


15 


missed  the  annual  dinner,  and,  indeed,  had  much  to  say 
to  its  management.  They  said  at  the  Albion  that  Major 
Braddock  was  a very  fastidious  gentleman,  but,  as  the 
ohef  added  enthusiastically,  “ he  is  a judge,  and  it’s  quite 
a pleasure  to  cook  for  him.”  So  that  one  way  and  another 
Major  Braddock  had  never  lost  touch  of  his  old  regiment, 
and  knew  something  about  pretty  well  every  officer  in  it. 

“ I suppose  you'll  be  moving  in  the  spring,”  he  said,  as 
he  lit  a big  cigar. 

“Yes,”  replied  Gilbert;  “it’s  our  turn  to  move,  and,  I 
suppose,  in  April,  we  shall  go  to  the  Northern  district ; 
but  where  I don’t  exactly  know — Manchester,  I’m  afraid.” 

“ And  why  afraid  ? ” rejoined  Major  Braddock.  “Mer- 
chant princes,  bless  you,  who  know  how  the  thing  should 
be  done.  If  you  play  your  cards  properly,  you  ought  to 
manage  to  get  your  legs  under  the  mahogany  of  all  the 
best  houses,  and  wind  up  by  marrying  a hundred  thousand 
pounds.  Don’t  tell  me,  sir  ! It’s  not  often  a young  fellow 
gets  such  a chance  so  early  in  life.  I can  only  say  I regard 
it  as  sending  the  regiment  to  play  by  the  waters  of  Pac- 
tolus,  and  it’ll  be  a disgrace  to  the  lot  of  you  if  you  ever 
know  want  afterwards.” 

“All  I know  is  that  Manchester  is  not  a popular  quarter 
with  the  Dragoons  generally,”  rejoined  Gilbert,  laughing. 
“ However,  it  is  by  no  means  settled  yet  that  that  is  our 
destination.” 

“ Going  on  leave  ? ” asked  the  Major,  drily. 

“ Yes — am  on  leave,  indeed,  now,  though  I shall  pro- 
bably run  back  to  Aldershot  for  a night  to  arrange  one  or 
two  little  matters  that  I left  unsettled  when  I came  away. 
Then  I am  going  to  stay  for  a little  while  with  some  friends 
in  Nottinghamshire,  where  I am  promised  a few  days  wuth 
the  Belvoir.” 

“Ah!”  said  the  Major,  “you’ll  have  to  look  lively  to 
hold  your  own  with  the  Duke’s.  It’s  a rare  country,'  and 
if  you’ve  the  luck  to  throw  in  for  good  sport,  you  will  find 
it  will  try  the  best  horse  in  your  stable  to  live  with  them.” 

And  then  the  conversation  became  general,  reverting  to, 
amongst  other  things — as  it  was  apt  to  do  in  those  days — 
what  a friend  of  mine  used  to  call  the  great  annual  pro< 


I6 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


blem,  namely,  what  was  to  win  the  forthcoming  Derby, 
and  about  this  there  was,  needless  to  say,  much  diversity 
6f  opinion.  In  these  days  men  trouble  their  heads  very 
much  less  concerning  the  solving  of  that  riddle,  and  it  is 
hot  until  the  race  is  near  at  hand  that  much  interest  is 
manifested  about  it. 

Gilbert  Slade  was  a shrewd  observer,  and  he  noticed 
that,  whereas  the  Major  and  the  other  men  had  much  to 
say  about  it,  and  expressed  their  opinions  freely,  pooh- 
poohing  each  other’s  judgment  with  much  disdain,  Norman 
Slade,  who,  as  Gilbert  well  knew,  had  far  more  knowledge 
of  the  subject  than  all  the  others  put  together,  smoked 
silently,  and  listened  to  all  the  talk  with  a somewhat  deri- 
sive smile  on  his  countenance.  At  last  he  was  appealed 
to  point  blank  to  give  them  his  views  on  the  subject. 

“Can’t,  my  good  fellow,”  replied  Norman,  drily;  “I 
haven’t  got  any  views  about  it  whatever.  I simply  say  I 
don’t  know.  If  you  consider  my  advice  worth  anything, 
it  is  merely  that  it  is  best  let  alone  for  the  present.” 

“Well,  Norman,”  said  the  Major,  laughing,  “we  cer- 
tainly can’t  be  said  to  have  got  much  out  of  you.” 

Slade  simply  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  reply,  and  turned 
the  conversation.  Those  who  knew  Norman  Slade  were 
quite  aware  of  two  things:  first,  that  you  might  as  well  try 
'to  extract  information  from  an  oyster  about  any  coming 
turf  events  as  from  him ; secondly,  on  the  rare  occasions 
when  he  did  vouchsafe  a hint,  it  was  sure  to  be  well  worth 
following.  Perhaps  Gilbert  had  been  benefited  as  much 
as  any  man  from  such  hints;  he  was  a great  favourite  with 
that  somewhat  sarcastic  uncle  of  his,  and  he  had  the  good 
sense  never  to  trouble  him  with  questions  about  these 
matters.  Gilbert  Slade  had  a very  shrewd  head  on  his 
shoulders.  He  was  a popular  man  in  his  regiment,  but 
there  was  a touch  of  his  Uncle  Norman’s  reticence  about 
his  character.  He  most  assuredly  did  not  wear  his  heart 
upon  his  sleeve,  nor  did  he  unbosom  himself  quite  so 
readily  to  his  chums  as  many  men  of  his  age  do.  So  far, 
his  life  at  present  could  not  be  said  to  have  been  eventful ; 
he  had  knocked  about  with  his  regiment  from  one  garrison- 
town  to  another  for  the  last  four  years,  had  always  plen^ 


MAJOR  BRADDOCK^S  DINNER.  17 

of  houses  open  to  him  in  the  leave-season,  and  enjoyed  a 
run  in  London  as  much  as  most  men. 

“ Curious,”  muttered  Gilbert,  as  he  strolled  homewards, 
‘‘  the  difference  between  these  two  uncles  of  mine.  As  far 
as  giving  me  a dinner  goes,  or  writing  me  a moderate 
cheque  if  I got  into  difficulties.  I’ve  no  doubt  the  Major 
would  stand  to  me  like  a man ; but  in  a serious  scrape  I 
fancy  Uncle  Norman  would  be  worth  a dozen  of  him. 
Every  one  who  knows  him  seems  to  think  he  might  have 
done  anything  if  he  had  taken  the  trouble  to  try,  while  as 
for  the  Major,  my  impression  is  that  it  is  well  for  him  his 
father  left  him  very  comfortably  off.  P'rom  all  accounts 
he  was  a rattling  good  fellow,  but  a precious  bad  officer  in 
the  days  of  his  soldiering.  Ah ! well,  fortunately  I need 
trouble  neither  of  them  for  assistance.”  And  then  Gilbert 
began  lazily  to  reflect  on  his  coming  visit  to  Nottingham- 
shire, and  speculate  upon  how  much  fun  he  could  get  out 
of  the  couple  of  hunters  that  he  was  taking  down  with 
him.  When  he  got  back  to  Limmer’s  he  strolled  into  the 
coffee-room.  It  was  tolerably  late  by  this  time,  for  the 
smoking-conclave  at  the  Thermopolium  had  been  of  some 
duration,  and  it  had  been  late  when  they  had  sat  down  to 
dinner. 

There  were  some  half-dozen  young  fellows  in  the  coffee- 
room,  solacing  themselves  as  ‘‘  young  gentlemen  laden  with 
care  ” are  wont  to  do,  according  to  the  famous  lyric. 

“Thought  I was  in  for  a real  row  to-night,  coming  out 
of  Bob  Croft’s,’'  said  one.  “ They  were  a queer  lot  who 
rushed  two  fellows  in  front  of  me;  but,  by  Jove!  they 
caught  a brace  of  Tartars.  I never  saw  men  hit  out 
straighter  or  cleaner ; and  as  for  the  leader  of  the  gang, 
he  went  down  at  once  from  a left-hander  I should  have 
been  sorry  to  have  caught,  and  his  pals  got  thoroughly 
sick  of  the  job  in  less  than  two  minutes.” 

“ What  the  deuce  are  you  boring  us  with  the  account 
of  a night-house  row  for  ? We’ve  all  seen  it,  and  shall, 
doubtless,  see  it  again  before  we’ve  done.  Bertie  Slade, 
by  Jove  1 What  are  you  doing  here  ?” 

“ Well,  just  now,”  said  Gilbert,  as  he  raised  his  hat, 


i8 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


smiling,  **  I was  listening  to  your  friend’s  account  of  the 
row  which  he  witnessed  in  the  Haymarket.” 

“ Oh ! there’s  nothing  much  in  it,  I dare  say,”  replied 
the  narrator,  somewhat  sulkily.  “ But  Barton  interfered, 
as  he  invariably  does,  just  before  I came  to  the  point  of 
the  story.  I never  heard  such  a fearful  malediction  as 
that  man  hurled  after  the  fellow  who  had  struck  him  down 
when  he  picked  himself  up.  I can’t  get  the  pale,  blood- 
stained face  out  of  my  head.  He  evidently  knew  him,  for 
he  cursed  him  by  name,  and  swore  never  to  forget  nor 
forgive  him ; vowed  that  his  turn  would  come,  and  that 
then  Ralph  Furzedon  might  look  to  himself.  Never  heard 
the  name  before,  and  don’t  suppose  any  of  you  did.” 

The  company  shook  their  heads  in  ignorance,  and  Gil- 
bert, who,  at  all  events,  considered  care  sufficiently  dissi- 
pated for  that  evening,  nodded  “ good-night.” 


III. — Thrown  Out. 

Mr.  furzedon  was  a gentleman  wise  far  beyond 
his  years.  What  his  antecedents  were  previous  to 
his  arrival  at  the  University  was  a fact  concerning  which 
no  one  knew  anything.  He  never  alluded  in  the  faintest 
way  to  his  family.  He  seemed  plentifully  supplied  with 
money,  had  avowedly  not  the  slightest  intention  of  taking 
a degree,  and  conformed  to  the  rules  of  his  college  just 
sufficiently  to  prevent  coming  into  serious  collision  with 
the  authorities.  He  spent  his  money  freely,  but  invariably 
with  an  object  in  view.  However  off-hand  his  invitations 
might  seem,  they  were  not  so  in  reality;  and  never  was  a 
young  man  less  given  to  spontaneous  outbursts  of  that 
description.  He  was  by  no  means  proud  of  his  progenitor, 
though  he  admitted  the  old  gentleman  had  behaved  exces- 
sively well  in  quitting  this  world  when  he,  Ralph,  was 
about  sixteen  years  old,  and  leaving  him  very  comfortably 
off.  He  had  come  up  to  the  University  with  the  object 
solely  of  forming  a circle  of  acquaintance.  The  men  he 


THROWN  OUT. 


*9 


was  civil  to  were  all  such  as  he  thought  would  prove  useful 
to  him  in  life.  His  father  had  acquired  his  riches  by  tho 
simple  process  of  money-lending,  but  Ralph  Furzedon  had 
no  idea  of  continuing  that  business,  profitable  though  it 
was.  His  ambition  was  to  take  a good  social  position, 
and  college  was  to  him  a mere  stepping-stone  to  that  end. 
He  was  fairly  popular,  he  went  in  for  most  of  the  games 
and  diversions  so  much  esteemed  by  the  undergraduates, 
and,  if  he  did  not  distinguish  himself  in  any  particular 
pursuit,  still  he  was  passably  good  at  many  things ; not, 
perhaps,  a very  amiable  character,  if  you  knew  him  tho- 
roughly, but  he  was  much  too  clever  to  let  the  spots  on 
the  sun  be  seen.  Young  men  are  not  usually  suspicious, 
and  very  few  of  his  companions  had  the  slightest  idea  of 
the  ingrained  selfishness  of  the  man’s  nature.  It  never 
occurred  to  them  that  the  first  view  that  anything  pre- 
sented to  his  mind  was  how  it  would  affect  him,  Ralph 
Furzedon. 

Charlie  Devereux  was  a very  popular  man,  and  it  suited 
Mr.  Furzedon  to  become  intimate  with  him  on  that  ac- 
count; then,  again,  young  Devereux  was  an  undoubtedly 
fine  horseman.  Mr.  Furzedon,  in  his  far-sighted  sagacity, 
opined  that  in  a few  years  Charlie  might  have  blossomed 
into  a crack  gentleman  rider.  Furzedon  was  very  fond  of 
a small  racing  speculation,  when,  to  use  his  own  language, 
he  saw  his  way,  and  he  thought  that  his  friend  might  turn 
out  useful  to  him  in  this  latter  capacity  later  on.  Furzedon 
had  come  up  to  the  University  late ; he  had  begun  life  for 
himself  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  and  it  was  only  after  knocking 
about  London  for  a couple  of  years  that  he  realized  how 
very  difficult  it  was  for  a young  fellow  to  form  eligible 
acquaintances.  Friends,  as  they  would  term  themselves, 
were  easy  enough  to  make  by  a young  gentleman  with  a 
liberal  command  of  money,  but,  shrewd  beyond  his  years, 
Ralph  Furzedon  was  not  to  be  imposed  upon  by  these 
Brummagem  imitations.  He  aspired  to  mix  with  gentle- 
men, and  he  knew  that  the  very  best  of  the  acquaintance 
he  had  made  had  only  a doubtful  status  in  that  way.  For 
instance,  he  saw  no  possibility  of  getting  into  a decent 
dub,  and  that  was  a point  that  troubled  him  much.  It 


20 


iniDDLB  AND  SABRE. 


showed  something  for  the  determinati^^o  of  the  man’s 
character  that,  when  he  thoroughly  awoke  to  this  state 
of  things,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  submit  to  the  repaints 
of  the  University  solely  to  attain  the  end  he  had  m view. 
Mr.  Furzedon  did  not  intend  to  honour  the  University 
much  longer,  but  so  far  was  very  well  satisfied  at  the 
results  of  his  experiment. 

Furzedon  and  Charlie  Devereux  duly  carried  out  their 
programme,  and  arrived  at  North  Leach.  Once  settled  in 
their  quarters  and  they  lost  no  time  in  commencing  the 
serious  business  of  life.  That  is  to  say,  hunting  at  every 
available  opportunity.  Charlie  had  come  down  rather  late 
for  breakfast  one  morning.  He  was  a terrible  sinner  in 
that  respect,  and  generally  “ stumped  up  ” a cover  hack  in 
the  course  of  the  season. 

“We  can’t  wait  for  you,  Charlie,”  said  Lettice.  “ Re- 
member we’re  riding  our  hunters,  whilst  you  no  doubt 
have  sent  on,  and  intend  riding  that  luckless  slave  of 
yours.” 

“ All  right,”  rejoined  Charlie,  “you  and  Furzedon  had 
better  jog  on.  I shall  overtake  you  before  you  get  to 
Harrow  Wood,  I daresay.” 

Charlie,  perhaps,  lingered  rather  longer  over  his  break- 
fast than  he  dreamt  of;  but  certain  it  is  when  he  turned 
oif  through  a line  of  gates  that  led  down  to  the  wood  he 
had  seen  nothing  of  Furzedon  or  his  sister  on  his  way. 
He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  saw  that  he  was  late  ; still  he 
fancied  that  the  hounds  had  not  yet  left  the  cover.  He 
galloped  rapidly  on,  and  as  he  came  to  the  next  field, 
caught  sight  of  a lady  in  difficulties  at  the  gate  on  the  far 
side.  It  had  swung  to,  and  her  horse  was  too  fidgety  to 
allow  her  to  open  it.  Again  and  again  did  she  get  it  a 
little  way  open,  and  then  her  hunter,  in  his  impatience  to 
'^et  on,  twitched  it  out  of  her  hand. 

“ Pray  allow  me  to  do  that  for  you,”  exclaimed  Charlie, 
is  he  raised  his  hat. 

“ Oh!  thank  you  so  much,”  rejoined  the  fair  horsewoman, 
“ Dandy  is  always  troublesome  at  gates,  but  this  morning 
le  is  behaving  shamefully.  You  see  he  knows  we  are  latOi 
an4  is  so  dreadfully  anicious  to  get  on,” 


THROWN  OUT. 


2t 


By  this  time  Charlie  had  got  the  gate  open,  and  held  it 
while  his  new  acquaintance  made  her  way  through. 

“ *Twas  so  late,”  she  said,  gaily,  as  they  cantered  across 
the  next  field  together,”  “ that  my  husband  declined  to 
wait  any  longer  for  me.  Husbands  are  capable  of  such 
things  at  times,  and  I daresay  you  will  give  the  verdict 
against  me  on  an  occasion  of  this  sort.  JBut  surely,”  she 
exclaimed,  “ we  are  not  riding  for  the  next  gate.” 

“ No,”  answered  Charlie.  “ But  I know  every  yard  of 
this  country  by  heart.  If  we  slip  through  the  gap  at  the 
top  here,  it  is  nothing  of  a jump,  we  shall  find  a similar 
place  in  the  next  fence,  which  will  take  us  down  to  the  top 
end  of  the  cover.  It’s  a great  cut,  and  if  I know  anything 
about  it,  we  haven’t  a minute  to  spare.  Listen  I ” he 
exclaimed,  as  the  full-throated  chorus  rang  musically  on 
their  ears.  “ Those  hounds  will  be  away  almost  immedi- 
ately, if  they  are  not  already.”  And  Charlie  pressed  his 
hack  to  a gallop,  and  led  the  way  at  a pretty  sharp  pace 
in  the  direction  he  indicated. 

As  they  cleared  the  fence  there  was  a crash  of  canine 
tongues  that  was  a revelation  to  a fox-hunter. 

“ They  are  away,  by  Jove  ! ” cried  Charlie,  ‘‘  and  on  the 
far  side  the  cover,  I am  afraid.  I will  do  my  best  for  you, 
but  they  will  take  a deal  of  catching.  As  for  me,  I am 
clean  out  of  it,  unless  by  miraculous  luck  I happen  to  pick 
up  my  hunter  at  the  cover-side.  I’ve  rather  taken  it  out 
of  my  hack  already,  and,  though  good  of  his  kind,  he  is 
hardly  equal  to  catching  hounds  that  have  slipped  you.” 
“Too  true,”  exclaimed  the  lady,  as  they  jumped  into  the 
field  adjoining  the  cover;  “they’re  gone,  and  apparently 
everybody  else.” 

Charlie  made  no  reply,  but  sat  down  and  bustled  his 
hack  round  the  top  of  the  cover,  his  fair  companion  keep- 
ing close  at  his  heels  ; but  when  he  got  to  the  other  side, 
and  found  nothing  but  a small  group  composed  of  a couple 
of  gamekeepers  in  velveteens  and  half-a-dozen  labourers, 
he  realised  that  his  prediction  was  only  too  fatally  fulfilled. 
There  was  no  sign  of  his  hunter,  and,  worse  still,  no  like- 
lihood of  his  reaching  the  hounds.  These,  indeed,  were 
already  out  of  sight,  and  their  vicinity  only  to  be  judged 


^2 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


by  sundry  red  and  black  coats  that  bobbed  over  the  fences 
from  time  to  time.  With  difficulty  Charlie  suppressed  a 
malediction  on  his  own  indolence,  and  then,  glancing  at 
his  companion,  wondered  what  view  she  would  take  of  it. 

“ Ah!  ’*  she  said,  half  laughing,  half  pouting,  we  are 
fellows  in  affliction.  It  is  aggravating  to  have  lost  a good 
gallop,  and  still  more  aggravating  to  know  that  we  have 
only  ourselves  to  blame  for  it.  Yes,”  she  continued,  as 
laughter  triumphed  over  petulance  in  her  mood,  “ we  are 
both  victims  of  our  own  Sybaritism.  We  couldn’t  tear 
ourselves  from  our  pillows  this  autumn  morning,  nor 
restrain  our  appetites  at  the  breakfast-table.  What  are 
we  to  do  ? ” 

Charlie  made  no  reply  for  some  few  minutes.  “ Lost  a 
run,”  he  thought,  ‘‘missed  my  hunter,  and  have  got  a strange 
demoiselle  thrown  on  my  hands,  whom  I have  no  idea 
what  to  do  with.” 

“Catching  them,”  he  answered,  at  last,  “|s  out  of  the 
question.  I can  only  suggest  we  follow  leisurely  on,  and 
trust  to  the  chapter  of  accidents  to  fall  in  with  them 
towards  the  afternoon.” 

Very  good,”  replied  the  lady;  “ and  if  you  will  kindly 
accept  the  charge,  I will  place  myself  in  your  hands.” 

They  jogged  along  for  some  little  time  in  silence,  and 
were  now  plodding  along  a road  which,  as  Charlie  informed 
his  companion,  would  bring  them  to  Nareham  Gorse,  a 
cover  which,  he  continued  to  explain,  it  was  very  probable 
that  the  fox  would  make  for.  But  on  arriving  at  that 
favourite  refuge  of  foxes  they  found  no  signs  of  the  hunt ; 
in  short,  they  had  now  utterly  lost  the  hounds,  and  were 
like  people  adrift  in  the  desert,  as  far  as  having  any  recog- 
nised point  to  aim  for.  All  inquiries  proved  hopeless ; 
none  of  the  farmers  or  labourers  whom  Charlie  questioned 
had  seen  “aught  of  the  hounds”  that  day.  As  for  the 
lady,  she  bore  her  disappointment  with  great  equanimity, 
and  even  laughed  at  the  fiasco. 

“ I don’t  know  whether  you  keen^^hunting  diary,”  she 
said,  at  length.  “I  do ; but  f^^n^t  think  I shall  make 
any  entries  concerning  this  day.” 

Weil,  I don’t,”  replied  Charlie ; “ if  I did  I should 


THROWN  OUT. 


23 


simply  write  in,  ‘Was  an  indolent  idiot.  IVe  no  doubt  it 
has  been  the  run  of  the  season,  so  far.  What  a fool  I 
shall  feel  when  they  are  all  talking  it  over  at  dinner  this 
evening.” 

“You  won’t  deem  me  too  curious,”  said  his  fair  com- 
panion, “ if  I ask  the  name  of  my  fellow-sufferer  ? ” 

“ I am  Charles  Devereux,”  he  replied,  “ and  live  at 
North  Leach,  where  we  have  been  settled  time  out  of 
mind.” 

“Devereux,”  she  replied.  “You  are  a brother,  no 
doubt  of  that  handsome  Miss  Devereux  who  rides  so  well ; 
we  are  neighbours ; my  husband.  Major  Kynaston,  has 
taken  The  Firs,  which  no  doubt  you  know,  for  the  season.” 
“ Yes,”  replied  Charlie,  “ I know  the  place  very  well. 
It  is  about  ten  miles  from  us.  I hope  you  like  it.  The 
owner  never  lives  in  it,  but  it  is  nearly  always  let  for  the 
hunting  season,  though  people  don’t  so  much  care  about  it 
in  the  summer  time.  The  fact  is,  it  is  a widely-scattered 
neighbourhood,  and  though  we  natives  don’t  mind  the  long 
distances  between  our  houses,  yet  strangers  are  apt  to 
think  them  impossible.” 

“ They  certainly  strike  me  in  that  wise,”  replied  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  laughing,  “ though  I suppose,  after  all,  it  doesn’t 
matter  if  you  have  plenty  of  horses.  But  if  I mistake  not, 
I turn  off  here,  and  so  shall  no  longer  be  a trouble  to  you.” 
“ Yes,  you  are  close  to  home,  which  I only  wish  I was. 
My  horse  will  have  had  enough  of  it  before  I get  him 
back.” 

“ Good  bye,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston,  as  she  extended 
her  hand ; “I  trust  the  next  time  we  meet,  it  will  not  be 
to  pass  such  an  unprofitable  day.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  laughed  as  she  trotted  homewards.  “ It 
is  a blow,  a sad  blow,  my  dear,”  she  muttered  to  herself ; 
“ your  good-looking  cavalier  was  blind,  both  to  your  charms 
and  his  opportunities.  There  are  plenty  of  men  I wot  of  who 
would  have  thought  a day  well  spent  at  Kate  Kynaston’s 
bridle-rein.  This  fox-hunting  is  a very  brutalising  amuse- 
ment. I don’t  believe  Mr.  Devereux  knows  what  I’m  like  this 
minute.  He  was  chafing  all  the  way  at  having  lost  his 
beloved  sport.  As  a gentleman,  he  couldn’t  refuse  to  take 


24 


SADBLB  AND  SABRfi. 


care  of  an  errant  waif  like  myself ; but  I really  believe  U 
he  had  come  across  the  hounds  I should  have  been  left  to 
follow  him  as  I best  might.  It  is  fortunate  I had  nothing 
to  do  with  his  mishap,  or  I veritably  believe  he  would  never 
have  spoken  to  me  again.*’ 

Mrs.  Kynaston  had  read  young  Devereux  pretty  accur- 
ately. Charlie  was  bitterly  disappointed  at  his  misadven- 
ture. That  young  gentleman,  although  by  no  means 
insensible  to  his  fair  companion’s  charms,  was  an  enthusiast 
about  hunting.  As  before  said,  he  rode  well,  and  at  twenty- 
one  it  was  excusable  that  he  should  be  a little  conceited 
about  it ; no  woman’s  smile  at  present  could  compare  in 
his  eyes  with  having  had  all  the  best  of  a real  good  fifty 
minutes,  and  nbw,  after  having  missed  all  his  fun,  here  he 
was  with  a good  many  weary  miles  to  jog  home  on  a tired 
horse,  and  haunted  with  the  idea  that  there  had  been  a 
real  good  run.  And  he  had  good  grounds  for  so  thinking. 
He  knew  that  they  had  found  and  slipped  away,  certainly 
at  a rare  pace  to  start  with,  as  he  knew  from  the  glimpses 
he  had  got  of  what  might  be  termed  the  tail  of  the  field. 
The  hounds  and  the  leading  division  he  had  never  caught 
sight  of.  Then  he  wondered  how  Furzedon  had  got  on. 
Then  came  speculation  as  to  what  luck  had  attended  his 
chief  rivals.  Had  they  been  lucky  in  getting  away  ? 
Whom  had  fortune  favoured  ? And  who  could  lay  claim  to 
the  proud  distinction  of  having  been  in  front  throughout  ? 
Then  he  began  to  think  once  more  of  his  late  companion. 

Yes,”  he  reflected  critically,  “ she  is  a pretty  woman,  and 
sits  her  horse  very  nicely.  She  was  got  up,  too,  most  cor- 
rectly. I wonder  whether  she  is  much  of  a horsewoman, 
and  what  sort  of  a fellow  Major  Kynaston  is.  Keen,  I 
should  say,  or  he  wouldn’t  have  left  his  wife  to  follow  on 
by  herself.  I don’t  suppose  my  people  know  them  yet,  or 
I should  have  heard  Phyllis  speak  of  them.  Hold  up,  old 
man  ” he  exclaimed,  as  his  hack  made  an  awkward  stumble, 
“ we’ve  only  another  four  miles  to  do  now,  and  you  shall 
take  your  own  time  to  do  it,  only  don’t  go  to  sleep  over  it.” 
The  hack  seemed  to  understand  what  his  master  said  to 
him,  for  he  pricked  up  his  ears  and  proceeded  of  his  own 
5LCCord  to  jog  on.  It  was  probable  that  he  awoke  to  the 


THROWN  OUT. 


2$ 


fact  that  he  was  pretty  close  to  his  own  stable,  and  de^ 
termined  that  the  sooner  he  got  his  day’s  work  over  the 
better.  Charlie,  as  he  anticipated,  found  himself  the  first 
home,  as  he  had  been  the  last  to  start.  That  he  should  vent 
his  ill-humour  on  the  luckless  groom,  who  had  charge  of  the 
missing  hunter,  was  only  natural.  The  poor  fellow  had 
done  his  best,  but  his  master  not  turning  up  he  had  had  to 
act  on  his  own  inspiration,  and  had  unfortunately  waited  at 
the  wrong  end  of  the  cover.  He  had  then  followed  at  a 
respectful  distance,  with  three  or  four  second  horsemen 
who  had  fallen  into  the  same  mistake.  This  much  ouly 
could  he  tell — that  the  hounds  had  run  straight  away  from 
him,  and  this  by  no  means  assuaged  the  wrath  of  his  angry 
master,  who,  having  informed  him  that  he  was  a perfect 
idiot,  strode  into  the  house.  As  the  groom  remarked  to 
his  fellows,  with  considerable  justice,  “ It  wasn’t  my  fault. 
How  am  I to  know  which  end  of  a wood  a fox  will  break  ? 
If  Mr.  Charles  had  only  been  in  time,  we  should  have 
changed  horses  all  right,  and  then  he  could  have  judged  for 
hisself.” 

Mr.  Charles  Devereux  that  night  at  dinner  found  that 
his  instinct  had  not  deceived  him.  He  had  to  face  a fire 
of  merciless  chaff  about  his  coffee-house  proclivities.  He 
learnt  that  they  had  had  a capital  run  with  their  first  fox, 
who,  after  an  hour  and  forty  minutes,  with  only  one  check, 
had  fairly  beaten  them  ; how  that  they  had  a capital  second 
gallop  in  the  afternoon  after  a fox  which  was  brought  satis- 
factorily to  hand  ; and  then,  after  the  manner  of  sportsmen 
over  their  wine,  they  spared  never  a point  nor  details  of  the 
day’s  doings.  They  quoted  every  village  and  cover  they  had 
been  near  ; from  Winnington  Scrubs  to  Bubbleton  Brook, 
not  a point  was  spared  him  , till  even  Furzedon,  who  had 
gone  satisfactorily  to  himself  through  the  whole  business, 
rather  winced  under  this  little  geographical  victory.  Es- 
pecially cruel  to  the  outsiders  are  fox-hunters  when  they 
get  to  full  cry  over  the  wine  cup,  and  recount  their  won- 
drous accounts  over  Dabchick  Pastures,  or  some  similar 
locality  in  which  nobody  but  a fox-hunter  or  a parish 
doctor  ever  found  themselves  ; and  then  came  a sharp 
cross-examination  of  bow  Charlie  himself  bad  spent  his 


26 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


day,  but  his  answers  were  so  curt  and  sulky,  and  his  ill- 
humour  concerning  his  mishap  so  very  palpable,  that  they 
very  soon  gave  over  teasing  him.  One  thing  was  curious 
— ^that  the  name  of  Mrs.  Kynaston  never  passed  his  lips, 
whether  it  was  accident,  or  whether  he  thought  the  ad- 
misssion  would  lead  to  further  banter  on  the  part  of  his 
sister  and  Furzedop,  I can’t  say ; there  merely  remains  the 
fact  that  it  was  so. 


IV  — Lincoln  Spring.’ 

Lincoln  Races  l l he  budding  of  the  Turf  campaign, 
the  first  burst  of  spring  for  that  mysterious  world 
which  regulates  its  winter  by  the  Racing  Calendar  without 
respect  to  weather  or  almanac ; a meeting  sometimes  post- 
poned from  frost  and  snow,  but  run  off  as  a rule  in  bitter 
weather,  and  yet  which  attracts  to  it  all  the  sport-loving 
denizens  of  the  adjoining  counties,  to  say  nothing  of  that 
great  body  to  whom  racing  is  a business,  and  who  have 
oeen  growling  over  the  inaction  of  the  last  two  or  three 
months.  There  is  money  to  be  made  at  Lincoln,  no  doubt, 
though  it  more  often  falls  to  the  bookmaker  to  gather  it 
than  to  the  sanguine  backer  who  so  boldly  invests  his 
i:apital  on  some  probably  half-trained  horse,  of  whose 
present  form  the  stable  have  but  a misty  idea.  But,  be- 
sides these,  there  were  the  great  hunting  contingents 
from  Yorkshire,  from  Nottinghamshire,  and  Leicestershire. 
Hard  riders  from  the  Quorn,  the  Pytchley,  and  the  Bedale, 
from  the  Fitzwilliam,  from  the  Brocklesby,  and  the  Bel- 
voir — all  interested  in  the  Open  Steeplechase,  the  Hunt, 
and  the  Gone  Awa}^  Plate,  to  any  of  which  it  is  probable 
that  some  of  these,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  half-a-dozen 
Other  well-known  packs,  sent  a competitor. 

On  a drag,  opposite  the  Grand  Stand,  were  congregated 
most  of  the  people  mentioned  in  the  previous  chapter. 
North^  Leach  had  come  down  in  a strong  party  to  the  races. 
Old  Tom  Devereux  and  all  his  family  were  there,  and  with 


**  LINCOLN  SPRING. 


^7 


them  were  the  Kynastons,  for  by  this  time  a considerable 
intimacy  had  sprung  up  between  the  two  houses;  and  then 
had  not  both  the  Devereux  and  Major  Kynaston  both  got  a 
horse  running  ? The  old  man  was  as  keen  as  possible  to 
see  his  son  ride  the  winner  both  of  the  Hunt  Steeplechase 
and  the  Gone  Away  Plate.  In  the  former  the  Devereux 
had  entered  their  four-year-old,  of  which  Miss  Lettice  had 
thought  so  highly  at  the  beginning  of  the  hunting  season, 
while  the  Major  had  picked  up  something  a little  before 
Christmas,  that  he  had  ascertained  was  pretty  fast,  and 
had  hunted  it  just  sufficiently  to  qualify.  The  North 
Leach  people,  indeed,  knew  very  little  about  the  Major’s 
mysterious  purchase.  Seen  him,  of  course,  they  had;  but, 
whether  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  on  his  back,  or  the  Major,  he 
was  never  seen  prominently,  if  there  was  anything  like  a 
run.  The  lady,  although  she  rode  nicely,  was  by  no  means 
given  to  hard  riding.  She  enjoyed  the  sport  in  her  own 
way,  and  by  no  means  aspired  to  eclipsing  other  habits 
that  might  be  out  by  witching  horsemanship.  Charlie 
Devereux  was  by  this  time  amongst  Mrs.  Kynaston’s 
devoted  admirers,  and  she  had  not  a few.  One  special 
trait  that  recommended  her  much  in  that  young  gentle 
man’s  eyes  was  that  she  did  not  want  a “ lead,”  or  expect 
to  be  taken  care  of  after  the  find,  and  always  bade  him  not 
waste  his  chance  of  a good  start  by  dallying  too  long  at 
her  side.  About  the  Major  nobody  in  that  country  knew 
much,  although  there  were  plenty  of  people  in  the  London 
world  that  could  have  told  a good  deal  concerning  him. 

Lounging  on  the  lawn,  his  hands  buried  in  the  pockets 
of  his  ulster,  was  Gilbert  Slade;  he  had  come  across  with 
some  friends  from  the  country  house  in  which  he  was  stay- 
ing to  see  the  first  big  handicap  of  the  season  run,  and  at 
this  moment  one  of  his  friends  came  up  and  suggested  that 
they  should  go  up  to  the  top  of  the  stand  and  see  the  race. 
Gilbert  readily  assented. 

‘‘  It’s  a grind  to  get  there,’'  he  said,  but  there’s  nowhere 
that  you  can  "see  the  race  so  well  from;”  and  the  two 
accordingly  toiled  up  the  narrow  little  stone  staircase  that 
led  to  the  roof,  which  they  found  already  thickly  peopled. 

“ How  are  you,  Jocelyn  ? ” said  a tall,  good-looking  fel- 


2$ 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


low,  standing  a pace  or  two  in  advance  of  them.  “ Bitter 
cold  weather,  isn’t  it  ? Have  you  got  a wager  on  this 
affair  ? ” 

‘‘  No,”  replied  the  other,  “ it  isn’t  often  I indulge  in  that 
wise.” 

“Nor  I,”  was  the  reply;  “if  I ever  did,  I should  have 
been  tempted  this  time ; the  joint  owners  of  the  Siren  are 
wonderfully  confident,  and  have  insisted  on  all  our  leading 
people  about  here  backing  their  jacket.” 

“ It  is  too  late  now,”  said  Gilbert,  “ or  else  I would  have 
had  a trifle  on  that  tip.” 

The  horses  were  already  mustering  under  the  starter’s 
hand.  Two  or  three  false  starts,  and  then  they  got  off,  on 
moderately  level  terms. 

“ Well,  the  owners  of  the  Siren  should  be  satisfied,” 
exclaimed  the  tall  young  fellow  who  had  before  addressed 
them.  “ The  only  thing  they  were  afraid  of  was  their 
mare  getting  a bad  start,  but  she’s  got  off  right  in  front.” 

For  once  the  owners  of  the  hot  favourite  had  proved 
right  in  their  calculations  concerning  a big  handicap ; 
before  they  had  gone  a quarter  of  a mile,  the  Siren  had 
got  a clean  lead  of  her  field,  and  from  that  out,  she  never 
caused  her  backers  one  moment’s  uneasiness.  She  went 
on  improving  her  lead,  was  never  even  approached,  and 
finally  ran  home  an  easy  winner  by  half-a-dozen  lengths. 

“ Well,”  said  Gilbert,  “ I never  saw  such  a procession 
as  that  in  my  life  in  a big  race ; and  now  it  is  over,  I vote  we 
forage  for  food.  A north-east  wind  makes  me  confound- 
edly hungry.” 

“ Ah  ! I’m  afraid  you’ll  have  to  rough  it  rather  in  that 
respect.  There  is  not  that  magnificent  choice  of  luncheon 
that  generally  presents  itself  at  Ascot.” 

They  made  their  way  slowly  down  the  crowded  stair- 
case, and  went  into  the  luncheon-room,  but  it  was  thronged ; 
and  there  was  apparently  small  chance  of  obtaining  even 
standing  room  at  one  of  the  tables. 

“Ah  ! ” said  Jocelyn,  laughing,  “ you  will  have  to  con- 
trol your  unholy  appetite  for  some  time  longer.  When  we 
do  get  an  opening,  it  will  be  useless ; these  locusts  will 
have  de^'^’Qured  everything,” 


"LINCOLN  SPRING. 


29 


“ Let’s  come  away,”  rejoined  Gilbert  with  a smile.  ‘‘  It’s 
too  much  for  a man  in  my  state  to  watch  his  fellow-crea- 
tures feed.”  And  the  two  young  men  pushed  their  way 
down  stairs  with  the  determination  of  assuaging  their 
hunger  with  tobacco. 

They  had  barely  reached  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  when  a 
portly,  clean-shaven  gentleman,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  a 
good-humoured  smile  on  his  face,  suddenly  exclaimed, 
“ Good-day,  Mr.  Jocelyn,  I hope  you  like  the  chestnut  ? ” 
“ Best  horse  I’ve  got  in  my  stable,  Devereux.  I only 
wish  I could  afford  to  come  to  you  for  another.  You 
never  miss  Lincoln  Spring,  do  you  ? ” 

“No,  nor  the  Autumn  either:  but  we  are  come  down  a 
large  party  this  time.  We’re  going  to  have  a shy  at  a 
couple  of  the  local  races.  There’s  a coach  load  of  us  all 
come  to  see  Charlie  win,  we  hope.  By  the  way,  gentlemen, 
will  you  have  a glass  of  champagne  ? or  mebbe  you’ve  had 
no  lunch  ; I know  by  old  experience  that  it’s  pretty  rough- 
and-tumble  work  getting  anything  to  eat  in  there.” 

“ Well,  we  couldn’t,  Devereux,  and  that’s  all  about  it.” 
replied  Jocelyn  laughing;  “if  you  can  get  us  anything, 
you’d  be  doing  a real  charity.” 

“ Come  along,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a jolly 
laugh.  “ The  missus,  when  she  has  an  outing,  likes  to  do 
it  comfortable,  and  you  may  depend  upon  it,  when  she  gets 
on  the  coach  it’s  well  victualled.” 

“ Manna  in  the  wilderness,  by  Jove,”  whispered  Gilbert 
as  they  followed  the  old  gentleman  across  to  his  drag, 
where  the  debris  of  luncheon  still  lingered. 

The  two  gentlemen  were  quickly  introduced  to  the 
ladies,  and  hospitable  Mrs.  Devereux  insisted  upon  their 
coming  up  on  the  drag,  and  having  their  luncheon  “ quite 
comfortable.” 

“ I think  we  have  met  before,  Mr.  Slade,”  said  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  with  a bright  smile. 

“ Of  course,”  replied  Gilbert,  “ I remember  you  at  Lady 
Ramsbury’s  garden  party.” 

“Ah,  Mr.  Slade,”  said  the  lady,  laughing,  “ Fll  give  you 
one  bit  of  advice.  There  is  nothing  so  dangerous  as  remem- 
bering too  much.  It  couldn’t  have  been  at  Lady  Rams- 


30 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


bury’s,  because  I don’t  know  her,  but  I came  down  to  one 
of  the  big  Aldershot  field  days  last  summer,  and  you 
lunched  us  all  in  your  mess-room  before  we  returned  to 
town.  The  care  Mr.  Slade  took  of  me  on  that  occasion  made 
a deeper  impression  on  me  than  my  charms  did  upon  him.” 
“ To  be  sure ; very  stupid  of  me,”  rejoined  Gilbert, 
coolly, ‘‘that’s  the  worst  of  a London  season:  one  does 
get  places  muddled  up  so.” 

“ Ah,  you’ll  remember  me  another  time.  I’m  about  to 
embalm  myself  in  your  memory.  Let  me  give  you  some 
of  this  pigeon  pie,  and  next  time  we  meet  you’ll  murmur^ 
to  yourself,  ‘ Ah,  she  fed  me  when  I was  hungry.’” 

“Thank  you,”  rejoined  Gilbert,  laughing,  “and  if  you 
could  only  guess  how  hungry  I am,  Mrs.  Devereux.  I am 
perfectly  ashamed  of  my  appetite.” 

“Can’t  pay  me  a better  compliment,”  rejoined  that  lady. 
“ I know,  then,  my  cook  has  done  her  duty.” 

Neither  Jocelyn  nor  Gilbert  Slade  were  in  any  hurry  to 
quit  their  new  quarters.  They  could  see  there  just  as  well 
as  from  the  Grand  Stand  ; while,  as  for  the  ladies,  swathed 
in  furs  and  rugs,  there  was  no  temptation  for  them  to  leave 
their  seats.  Old  Tom  Devereux  was  backwards  and  for- 
wards between  the  drag  and  the  betting  lawn  continuously. 
He  had  a large  and  numerous  acquaintance,  and  was  con- 
sequently shaking  hands  and  exchanging  jokes  with  old 
friends.  Suddenly  Gilbert’s  attention  was  diverted  from 
the  lively  conversation  he  was  holding  with  Mrs.  Kynaston 
by  an  exclamation  from  Miss  Devereux. 

“ Good  gracious  ! Mr.  Furzedon,”  she  cried ; “ I never 
dreamt  of  seeing  you  here.” 

“ Ah  ! I was  bound  to  come  down,”  he  replied,  “ to  see 
how  the  horse  that  carried  you  so  well  last  winter  acquits 
himself  in  the  Hunt  Steeplechase;  and,  from  the  hint  I 
got  in  town  a day  or  two  ago,  I thought  I might  find  it 
profitable  to  get  here  in  time  for  the  big  handicap.” 

“ And  I hope  it  has  proved  so,”  said  Miss  Devereux. 

“ Yes,  thank  you,”  he  replied  ; “ I had  a very  good  race. 
No,  nothing,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Devereux  ; I did  all  that  at 
the  Great  Northern,  before  I came  up  to  the  course.” 
“Furzedon,”  thought  Gilbert,  “where  was  it  I bearcj 


"LINCOLN  SPRING.'* 


31 


that  name  only  the  other  day  ? Ah  ! '*  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, “ in  Limmer’s  Coffee  Room.  That’s  the  man  they 
mentioned  as  having  felled  an  unhappy  wretch  in  the  Hay- 
market,  who  hurled  after  him  a malediction  so  terrible  as 
to  have  attracted  the  attention  of  those  fellows  who  saw  it, 
and  they  were  a festive  lot,  to  whom  a row  in  those  parts 
was  no  novelty ; ” and  then  Gilbert  dismissed  the  matter 
from  his  mind,  and  turned  once  more  to  his  fair  companion. 

And  now  the  numbers  went  up  for  the  Gone  Away  Plate, 
and  there  was  great  excitement  on  the  top  of  the  drag  to 
see  Charlie’s  performance.  Both  Mrs.  Kynaston  and 
Lettice  had  a small  venture  in  the  success  of  Charlie’s 
mount,  which  they  regarded  as  already  won.  Could  they 
have  overheard  a conversation  between  the  Major  and  a 
seedy,  sinister  individual  at  the  back  of  the  betting-ring, 
they  would  not  have  felt  quite  so  sanguine  about  the 
result. 

“ Ah,  Major,”  said  the  latter,  I knows  your  horse  well. 
Knew  him  before  you  had  him,  and  you’re  quite  right : 
he’s  just  the  sort  to  pick  up  these  hunters’  stakes  oa  the 
flat ; but,  I warn  you,  you  haven’t  got  it  all  your  own  way 
this  time.  There’s  another  party  trying  just  the  same 
game.  I’ve  no  idea  which  of  you  has  got  the  best  of  it ; 
but  remember  there’s  another  horse  in  the  race  which  is  no 
more  a hunter  than  yours  is.’^ 

“ You’re  sure  of  what  you  say,  Prance  ? ” 

“ Quite,”  rejoined  the  other. 

“ Confound  it.  I’ve  got  a good  bit  of  money  on  this.” 

“ Well,  you  tell  your  jockey  to  keep  his  eye  on  The 
Decoy.  And  now.  Major,  times  are  hard,  and  I give  you 
my  word  that  information  is  worth  a sovereign  to  you.” 
The  Major  paused  for  a second,  and  then  unbuttoned  his 
overcoat,  took  the  coin  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  his  companion. 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  replied  the  tout,  for  such  he  was, 
“ I’ve  always  run  straight  with  you.  Major,  and  I’m  quite 
sure  of  what  I tell  you.  Yours  and  The  Decoy  will  run 
first  and  second,  and  it’ll  be  a race  between  ’em.  I hope, 
for  your  sake,  sir,  yours  is  good  enough  to  win.”  And 
thereupon  Mr.  Prance  vanished  with  the  utmost  celerity, 


32 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


and  immediately  invested  the  sovereign  he  had  just  received 
with  a ready  money  bookmaker  on  Decoy 

Great  was  the  excitement  on  the  top  of  the  drag  as  the 
competitors  for  the  Gone  Away  Plate,  after  galloping 
three-quarters  of  the  distance,  turned  into  the  straight,  and 
the  Major’s  black  jacket  was  seen  in  the  clear  lead,  and  a 
cry  arose  from  the  Stand  of  “ Rob  Roy  wins ! ” “ Rob 
Roy  in  a canter  ! ” but  Mr.  Prance  had  been  only  too  cor- 
rect in  his  diagnosis  of  the  race. 

As  he  came  away  from  his  field  Charlie  looked  anxiously 
right  and  left  for  The  Decoy,  as  the  Major  at  the  last 
moment  had  told  him  that  that  was  the  one  quarter  from 
which  he  might  apprehend  danger.  But  the  gentleman  on 
The  Decoy  was  no  neophyte ; he  had  ridden  many  more 
races,  was  a far  more  cunning  placer  than  Charlie,  and 
was  quite  as  well  aware  ^as  young  Devereux  that  he  had 
nothing  but  Rob  Roy  to  beat.  Trusting  to  Charlie’s  inex- 
perience, the  minute  he  came  away  he  followed  directly  in 
his  track,  the  former  casting  anxious  glances  right  and  left 
could  see  nothing  of  his  dangerous  adversary,  but  some- 
what astonished  at  the  non-appearance  of  The  Decoy, 
Charlie  raced  steadily  home.  Suddenly  just  before  reach- 
ing the  Stand,  like  a flash  he  saw  the  white  jacket  and 
crimson  belt  of  Mr.  Sexton’s  mare  at  his  girths.  It  flurried 
him  a little,  no  doubt,  as  the  being  caught  close  to  home 
does  most  men  in  their  first  public  race,  still  he  kept  his 
head  marvellously  well,  and  it  wasn’t  till  he  saw  that  his 
opponent  had  fairly  collared  him  opposite  the  Stand  that 
he  sat  down  and  began  riding  in  earnest.  But  it  was  of 
no  use,  his  crafty  opponent  had  already  got  a neck  the  best 
of  him,  and,  to  say  nothing  of  being  on  perhaps  the  best 
horse,  was  certainly  the  more  experienced  ‘‘  finisher  ” of 
the  pair.  He,  too,  began  to  ride  his  horse  in  resolute 
fashion,  and  not  only  held  the  advantage  he  had  gained, 
but  improved  it  to  a good  half  length  before  he  passed  the 
winning-post. 

There  was  wailing,  half  earnest  and  half  laughing,  on 
the  top  of  the  drag  at  the  defeat  of  their  champion.  There 
were  bitter  maledictions  on  the  part  of  the  Major  as  to 
what  he  was  pleased  to  term  Mr.  Sexton’s  unscrupulous 


“ LINCOLN  SPRING."  33 

conduct,  totally  ignoring  that  Mr.  Sexton  had  only  suc- 
ceeded and  that  he  had  failed  ; that  otherwise  their  proceed- 
ings had  been  precisely  similar,  and  there  was  considerable 
hilarity  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Prance,  who  had  succeeded  in 
adding  three  sovereigns  to  his  store. 

“ Very  bad,  Miss  Devereux,”  said  Slade,  “but  we  can 
only  say  that  your  brother,  though  defeated,  was  not  dis- 
graced. No  man  could  have  made  a better  struggle  for  it, 
and  we  can  only  say  that  it  was  his  ill-luck  to  encounter 
an  enemy  a little  too  good  for  him.” 

I doubt  whether  Gilbert’s  uncle  Norman  would  have 
given  quite  so  merciful  a verdict.  I think  he  would  have 
said,  “ He  rides  very  nicely  for  a young  one,  but  the  old 
practitioner  did  him  at  the  finish.  If  he  had  made  the 
most, of  the  commanding  position  he  held  when  he  got  into 
the  straight  I should  rather  doubt  The  Decoy  ever  having 
caught  him.” 

“ Good-bye,  Mrs.  Devereux,”  said  Slade.  “ Of  course, 
we  shall  see  you  all  here  to-morrow,  and  then  I trust  your 
own  jacket  will  be  hailed  the  winner.  In  the  meantime, 
Miss  Devereux,  let  me  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  a 
couple  of  famishing  wayfarers.  And  now  here  come  your 
horses,  and  we  must  say  good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,”  returned  the  hospitable  old  lady.  “ Good- 
bye, Mr.  Jocelyn.  Remember,  I shall  expect  you  both  to 
luncheon  to-morrow.” 

And  with  a cordial  adieu  all  round  the  two  young  men 
took  their  departure. 

“ Deuced  good  find  that,”  said  Gilbert,  as  he  and  Jocelyn 
walked  back  to  Lincoln.  “ Very  pleasant  people,  and  they 
have  entertained  us  royally.  What  are  they  exactly  ?” 

“ People  who  have  farmed  in  the  Wolds  for  centuries^ 
and  on  a large  scale.  The  old  man  is  held  in  the  highest 
respect,  and  almost  treated  as  a squire  by  the  scattered 
gentlemen  around  him.  As  for  Mrs.  Kynaston,  you  appar- 
ently know  more  about  her  than  I do.  I hope  they’ll  pull 
off  the  Hunt  Steeplechase  to-morrow,  for  they  were  evi- 
dently sadly  disappointed  about  being  beaten  to-day.” 


34 


SADDLE  AND  SABREL 


V. — The  Hunt  Steeplechase. 


HE  next  day  was  a great  improvement  on  its  predeces- 


sor : the  wind  was  still  keen,  but  there  was  very  little 


of  it,  and  a bright  sun  not  only  threw  out  considerable 
heat,  but  also  had  an  enlivening  effect  on  people’s  spirits. 
Mr.  Prance,  in  high  feather  at  his  yesterday’s  success  over 
the  Gone  Away  Plate,  was,  for  a gentleman  of  his  satur- 
nine temperament,  quite  genial,  and  was  laughing  and  jest- 
ing with  two  or  three  of  his  mates — race-course  hangers-on 
— who,  like  himself,  picked  up  a precarious  living  in  a by 
no  means  straitlaced  fashion.  Suddenly  the  man’s  manner 
was  utterly  transformed ; he  started  as  if  he  had  been 
stung  ; and  had  any  of  those  who  had  witnessed  fracas 
in  the  Haymarket  been  present  to  see,  they  would  have 
noticed  the  same  look  of  implacable  resentment  which  had 
so  arrested  their  attention  on  that  evening.  The  cause 
was  not  far  to  seek,  for  they  had  just  passed  Mr.  Furzedon 
strolling  leisurely  up  the  course  with  a friend. 

“ Ah  ! ” muttered  Mr.  Prance  to  himself,  “ let  me  ever 
have  the  chance,  and  if  I don’t  give  you  quittance  in  full, 
Mr.  Furzedon,  for  all  I owe  you,  may  my  hand  and  tongue 
be  numb  for  ever  in  this  world  ! ” 

Mr  Furzedon,  quite  unconscious  of  the  very  question- 
able blessing  invoked  on  his  head,  passed  on.  It  is  doubt- 
ful whether  he  would  have  been  much  perturbed  at  Mr. 
Prance’s  thirst  for  vengeance  had  he  been  aware  of  it*  He 
had  been  far  too  conscious  of  his  superior  physical  strength, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  infinitely  superior  position,  to  feel 
any  anxiety  about  any  harm  such  a man  as  Prance  could 
work  him.  That  the  cause  of  quarrel  between  the  two  lay 
deeper  than  the  blow  he  had  struck  him  that  night  outside 
the  supper  rooms  had  been  transparent  even  to  the  casual 
^'spectators,  but  what  that  was  must  at  present  remain  a 
matter  between  themselves.  One  of  the  first  persons  the 
tout  came  across  when  he  had  made  his  way  into  the 
enclosure  was  Major  Kynaston,  who  was  carefully  studying 
his  race  card. 

Well,  sir,**  he  said,  “ what  I told  you  yesterday  was 


^ THE  HUNT  STEEPLECHASa  35 

right  enough ; and  it  was  a very  close  fit  between  yours 
and  The  Decoy.** 

“ Yes,  you  were  right  enough,  my  man  ; and,  change  the 
jockeys,  and  it  is  possible  it  might  have  been  quite  the 
other  way.  Not  but  what  Mr.  Devereux  rode  very  nicely ; 
still  the  old  hand,  of  course,  proved  a little  too  much  for  the 
young  one.  Race-riding,  like  everything  else,  requires  a 
lot  of  practice ; it  was  pretty  nearly  my  man’s  first  appear- 
ance in  public,  while  Mr.  Long  has  been  riding  for  years. 
However,  your  information  was  worth  the  sovereign.** 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  replied  Prance ; “ if  I find  out  any- 
thing to-day  I’ll  let  you  know.” 

The  Major  nodded ; he  could  take  pretty  good  care  of 
himself  on  a racecourse,  and  was  by  no  means  to  be  led 
away  by  what  he  might  pick  up  from  a tout ; Prance,  he 
knew  from  former  experience,  was  worth  listening  to,  and 
now  and  again,  as  in  the  case  of  yesterday’s  race,  really 
had  come  by  a bit  of  genuine  information. 

Tom  Devereux’s  drag,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  was  early 
drawn  up  opposite  the  Stand.  The  ladies  were  in  high 
spirits,  and  confident  in  the  extreme  about  victory  to-day 
in  the  Hunt  Steeplechase.  In  vain  Charlie  protested 
against  such  extreme  confidence.  “ I’ve  a good  horse,  I 
know,  Lettice,”  he  said ; “ but  I may  meet  a better,  just  as 
I did  yesterday.” 

“ It  won*t  do,  Charlie,”  replied  the  girl ; **  we  are  bent 
upon  returning  victors  to  North  Leach,  and  mind  you 
don’t  disappoint  us.’* 

By  this  time  the  drag  was  surrounded  by  several  young 
men,  amongst  whom  Gilbert  Slade,  Jocelyn,  and  Furzedon 
were  prominent. 

I suppose  you  are  very  fond  of  racing.  Miss  Devereux?  ” 
said  Gilbert  Slade,  who  had  climbed  to  the  roof  of  the  drag. 

“ Fond  of  it  ? **  she  replied.  “ I can  hardly  say.  I know 
next  to  nothing  about  it.  We  always  take  the  coach  to 
Doncaster,  and  I have  been  there  two  or  three  times.  My 
father  knows  Lincoln  races  well ; but  neither  mother  nor  I 
ever  came  here  before  ; and  this  time  it  is  in  honour  of 
Charlie’s  first  appearance  as  a rider  at  the  big  meeting  of 
his  county,*’ 


36 


SADDLE  AND  SABRB. 


**  Then  you  are  ignorant  of  the  glories  of  Ascot  and 
Goodwood  ? **  said  Slade. 

Utterly/'  replied  Miss  Devereux.  “ I know  very  little 
of  London  and  its  gaieties,  although,  of  cou/se,  I am  aware 
what  great  gatherings  of  fashion  those  two  race  meetings 
are.  We  are  very  plain,  humdrum  people.  A run  to  the 
sea  when  the  crops  are  in  constitutes  our  summer  gaiety, 
though  occasionally  I get  asked  to  my  aunt’s  in  South 
Kensington.  She  is  papa’s  sister,  you  must  know,  and 
married  a man  who  was  in  some  kind  of  business  in  Lon- 
don, I’m  sure  I don’t  know  what,  but  he  has  left  her  a very 
comfortably  oflf  widow,  and  she  knows  a lot  of  people,  and 
I always  have  a very  pleasant  time  when  I go  to  stay 
with  her.” 

“ Ah  ! I daresay  Mrs.  — , I beg  your  pardon,  what  did 
you  say  your  aunt’s  name  was  ? ” said  Slade. 

“ I didn’t  mention  it,”  rejoined  Lettice,  smiling,  but  it 
is  Mrs.  Connop,  and  she  lives  in  Onslow  Gardens.  She  is 
a very  bustling  woman,  who  enjoys  life  keenly,  entertains 
herself  a good  deal,  and  goes  to  everything.  I have 
always  had  a very  gay  six  weeks  with  her,  and  that’s  all  I 
ever  know  of  London  dissipation.  You,  I dare  say,  have 
had  years  and  years  of  it  ?” 

“ I have  had  my  fling,”  rejoined  Slade,  quietly ; “ but  I 
am  a soldier,  and  am  very  often  quartered  a long  way  from 
London.  Just  at  present  I am  at  Aldershot  ; but  we 
expect  to  move  northwards  in  a couple  of  months,  and 
though  I dare  say  I shall  manage  a month  or  six  weeks,  it 
will  be,  like  yourself,  a mere  gulp  at  the  wine-cup,  but  no 
draining  of  the  goblet  to  the  dregs  ; I only  trust  that  we 
shall  meet.” 

I haven’t  been  asked  yet,”  rejoined  Miss  Devereux, 
**  and  that  is  the  first  and  most  important  step  in  my 
London  season  ! But — there,  the  numbers  are  up  surely  for 
the  next  race.” 

‘‘Ahl”  rejoined  Gilbert,  laughing.  “I  am  afraid  they 
have  just  finished  that  race,  and  we  have  actually  been 
gossiping  during  the  contest.  Never  mind  it  was  only  a 
small  selling  affair;  and  I don’t  suppose  any  of  us  are 
really  interested  in  anything  but  the  Hunt  Steeplechase,^ 


THE  HUNT  STEEPLECHASE. 


37 


“ Now,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  a little  grimace, 

“ there  must  be  an  end  to  all  this  idle  gossip.  The  serious 
business  of  the  day  is  about  to  commence — we  have  don^ 
with  the  entrees,  and  come  to  the  pike  de  resistance.  I have 
got  a fortune  on  the  sky-blue  jacket  and  white  sleeves.  I 
don’t  often  go  in  for  a gamble,  but  I have  asked  Mr.  Fur- 
zedon  to  put  me  ten  pounds  on  Pole  Star.” 

“ That’s  plunging  with  a vengeance,”  rejoined  Lettice, 
“ and  you  ought  really  to  win  a good  deal  of  money.  But 
Charlie  tells  me  that  he  has  got  me  fifty  pounds  to  five 
about  his  mount.” 

“ Yes,”  interrupted  Jocelyn,  “you’re  entitled  to  a good 
price.  Miss  Devereux.  I don’t  suppose  even  your  father 
or  your  brother  are  backing  Pole  Star  heavily,  and  the 
Fletchers  are  supposed  to  farm  this  race — to  enjoy  almost 
a monopoly  of  it.  The  only  thing  that  ever  puzzles  us  is 
which  to  back  of  the  two  brothers,  George  or  Jim  ; they’re 
about  equally  good  horsemen,  and  the  difficulty  is  to  find 
out  which  is  riding  the  best  horse.” 

“ And  what  are  they  doing  about  these  formidable 
brothers  now  ?”  inquired  Mrs.  Kynaston. 

“ George  Fletcher’s  mount  is  first  favourite,”  replied 
Jocelyn,  “but  I noticed  some  very  shrewd  farmers  taking 
the  longer  odds  about  Jim’s  horse.  Don’t  think  me  a rene- 
gade, Miss  Devereux;  I have  backed  your  brother,  but  I 
have  also  got  a trifle  on  Jim  Fletcher.” 

And  now  the  horses,  having  paced  past  the  Stand,  come 
thundering  down  again  in  their  preliminary  canter.  Noth- 
ing, perhaps,  goes  better  than  a big  raking  chestnut  that 
Charlie  Devereux  is  handling  ; th'e  favourite  looks  “ fit  ” as 
hands  can  make  him,  and  is  pronounced  a nice  “ mover  ” 
by  the  cognoscenti,  and  the  men  of  the  Midlands  have  keen 
eyes  for  that  sort  of  thing.  There  is  a varmint  wear-and- 
tear  look,  too,  about  Jim  Fletcher’s  mount  that  led  good 
judges  to  think  he  might  prove  troublesome  to  the  winner 
at  the  finish.  Still,  although  out  of  the  half-score  runners 
that  were  all  backed  more  or  less,  yet  it  was  quite  evident 
that  the  Ring,  as  well  as  the  backers  generally,  believed  in 
nothing  but  the  Fletchers.  Rattle,  indeed,  was  a hot 
favoixrite,  and  Jim  Fletcher’s  mount  advanced  so  rapidly  in 


SADDLB  AND  SABRE. 


38 

public  estimation,  that  when  the  starter  mus4«red  the 
horses  it  was  quoted  at  only  a couple  of  points  behind  his 
brother’s.  It  is  not  very  difficult  to  dispatch  a lot  of  horses 
on  a three-mile  race.  A few  lengths,  which  are  often  never 
to  be  recovered  in  a short  distance  on  the  flat,  are  of  very 
little  account  in  the  long  cross-country  journey,  and  in  a 
very  few  minutes  they  are  away.  For  the  first  half-mile 
nothing  takes  a very  decided  lead  ; at  the  end  of  that  time 
Jim  Fletcher’s  black  jacket  shoots  ‘decidedly  to  the  fr@at, 
and  many  of  his  backers  at  once  deplore  their  infatuation, 
as  they  murmur, 

“ The  fiLVOurite’s  the  real  pea,  after  all,  and  Jim  is  only 
making  running  for  his  brother and  that  this  impression 
was  shared  by  the  jockeys  riding  in  the  race  seemed  pro- 
bable, as  Charles  Devereux  and  the  best  of  them  waited  in 
a cluster  upon  George  Fletcher,  who  was  distinguished 
from  his  brother  by  wearing  a red  cap. 

In  the  mean  time  Jim  sailed  gaily  away,  his  varmint- 
looking steed  jumping  in  faultless  fashion,  until  he  had 
stolen  a lead  of  nearly  a field  from  his  opponents.  Half 
the  distance  had  now  been  traversed,  and  young  though 
Charlie  Devereux  was  at  the  business,  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him,  as  it  also  did  to  one  of  his  companions  in  a bright 
green  jacket,  that  they  were  letting  Jim  Fletcher  get  a very 
dangerous  distance  in  front  ; he  turned  it  over  for  a few 
seconds  in  his  mind,  and  the  minute  they  had  cleared  the 
next  fence  he  shot  to  the  front,  closely  attended  by  the 
green  jacket,  and,  a little  to  his  bewilderment,  by  George 
Fletcher.  The  latter  worthy  laughed  low  in  his  beard,  as 
he  muttered, 

“ It’s  getting  about  time  to  give  the  backers  of  the 
favourite  a show  for  their  money  ; but  if  Jim  ever  let’s  us 
catch  him  now,  he  is  a much  bigger  fool  than  I think  him.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  was  a lady  who  had  seen  a good  deal  of 
racing,  one  way  and  the  other,  and,  what  is  more,  was 
really  a fair  judge  when  she  did  see  it. 

“ I am  afraid  they  have  let  the  black  jacket  slip  them,” 
she  said  ; “ they  have  let  him  gain  such  a tremendous 
lead,  they’ll  never  succeed  in  catching  him.  However, 
Mr.  Devereux  seems  quite  alive  to  the  situation  now#*' 


THE  HUNT  STEEPLECHASE. 


39 


Jim  Fletcher  continued  to  pursue  the  even  tenor  of  his 
way.  Now  and  again  he  shot  a glance  over  his  shoulder, 
but  could  see  no  antagonist  near  him. 

“ They  can’t  intend  me  to  come  in  alone,  surely,”  he 
thought. 

But  already  Charlie,  closely  attended  by  George  Fletcher, 
the  green  jacket,  and  one  or  two  others,  was  rapidly  dimin- 
ishing the  wide  gap  that  lay  beteewn  himself  and  the 
leader. 

‘‘  Ah,”  exclaimed  Miss  Devereux,  “ they  will  catch  the 
black  jacket  now  by  the  time  they  enter  the  straight  !” 

“ Yes,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston  ; “ my  only  fear  is  that  he 
has  been  rather  hard  upon  Pole  Star  in  doing  so,  and  that 
he  will  find  that  he  has  not  much  left  in  his  horse  just 
when  the  pinch  comes.” 

Miss  Devereux  was  quite  right.  As  Jim  Fletcher  jumped 
the  fence  on  to  the  racecourse,  his  companions  had  begun 
to  take  close  order  with  him,  but  he  still  held  the  four 
lengths’  lead  of  Pole  Star.  But  there  was  just  this  differ- 
ence: whereas  Jim  Fletcher’s  horse  jumped  the  fence  well 
and  cleanly,  Pole  Star,  for  the  first  time,  fenced  in  slovenly 
fashion.  There  was  nothing  now  between  the  competitors 
and  the  winning-post  but  a hurdle  about  half-way  up  the 
straight — nothing  of  a jump,  but  just  the  sort  of  a thing 
to  botl^er  a beaten  horse.  Charlie  was  still  lying  second, 
with  the  green  jacket  waiting  at  his  quarters.  Steadily  he 
crept  up,  and  as  they  neared  the  hurdle  Jim  Fletcher  held 
a bare  two  lengths’  lead.  But  there  was  this  difference 
between  him  and  his  antagonists : he  had  never  bustled  or 
called  upon  his  horse  the  whole  way  round.  Zadkiel,  the 
leader,  jumps  it  beautifully,  but  Pole  Star  hits  it  heavily, 
and  blunders  nearly  on  his  knees,  and  quickly  though 
Charlie  recovers  him,  the  contretemps  is  fatal ; before  he  can 
fairly  set  his  horse  going  again  the  green  jacket  has  passed 
him,  and  George  Fletcher  is  alongside  of  him  ; but  Zadkiel’s 
rid  is  not  the  man  to  throw  away  a chance.  His  horse 
is  ^ ’ng  strong  with  him,  and  he  comes  right  away  at  once. 
Desperately  though  the  green  jacket  rides  his  horse  he 
cannot  get  within  hail  of  the  leader,  while  Charlie  and 
George  Fletcher,  after  one  brief  call  upon  their  steeds, 


40 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


ceased  riding,  and  finished  third  and  fourth  respectively. 

“ Yes,”  said  the  Major,  as  he  watched  the  race  from  that 
high  bit  of  scaffolding  designated  as  the  Stand  in  Tatter- 
sail’s  Ring,  “ I was  right — quite  right.  My  dear  young 
friend,  till  you’ve  had  a good  bit  more  practice  it  is  throw- 
ing money  into  the  fire  to  back  your  mount.  You  would 
have  about  won  to-day  if  you  had  not  been  so  completely 
gammoned  by  those  Fletchers.  I should  like  to  know 
them  ; they’ve  a pretty  idea  of  picking  up  a race.  To  win 
with  a horse  that  was  supposed  to  be  making  running  while 
the  field  were  all  waiting  on  the  favourite  is  ingenious. 
Prance  was  right.  He  said  he  couldn’t  make  out  which, 
but  that  one  of  the  Fletchers  would  take  that  steeplechase 
for  certain.  I haven’t  done  so  badly  over  it,  but,  of  course, 
I mustn’t  admit  that ; they  will  think  it  rank  heresy  over 
the  way  if  I acknowledge  to  having  followed  anything  but 
the  Devereux  colours.” 

“ Oh,  dear,”  cried  Miss  Devereux,  on  the  box  of  the 
drag,  “ what  a piece  of  bad  luck  ! I’m  sure  Pole  Star 
wouldn’t  have  been  beaten  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  that  unlucky 
mistake  at  the  last  hurdle.” 

‘‘No,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  quietly,  “there’s  a great 
deal  of  luck  in  racing,  and  this  unfortunately  wasn’t  run 
to  suit  your  brother.  Better  luck  next  time,  Lettice.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  knew  a great  deal  better  than  that.  She 
was  perfectly  aware  of  how  the  race  had  been  run,  and 
why  Pole  Star  had  blundered  so  badly  at  the  last  hurdle — 
seen  it  all,  indeed,  just  as  clearly  as  her  husband,  but  she 
was  not  the  woman  to  make  herself  unpleasant  by  insinu- 
ations of  that  sort,  and  so  they  had  another  glass  of  cham- 
pagne all  round,  and  indulged  in  strong  tirades  against  the 
shameful  machinations  of  the  Fletchers,  and  agreed  that 
tricks  of  this  description  were  not  legitimate,  and  that  the 
Fletchers  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves. 

People  who  lose  their  money  are  somewhat  apt  to  argue 
in  this  wise.  There  was  nothing  inadmissible  in  the  tactics 
of  the  Fletchers.  All  that  could  be  said  was  that 
their  opponents,  had  they  not  been  rather  inexperienced, 
would  never  have  been  fooled  by  them,  and  yet  practised 
jockeys  have  fallen  into  similar  error. 


SIR  RONALD  RADCLIFFE 


4t 


At  this  juncture  Charlie  Devereux  appeared  at  the  side 
of  the  coach.  “ Awful  sorry,  Lettice,”  he  said.  “ I apolo- 
gise all  round.  I really  think  I had  a pretty  good  chance, 
but  the  Fletchers  really  gammoned  me  out  of  the  race. 
So  sorry  I lost  your  money,  Mrs.  Kynaston,  but  I plead 
guilty  to  having  been  green  as  any  gosling.  When 
I recognised  the  trap  they  had  laid  for  us  it  was  too 
late.  I had  to  be  so  hard  on  Pole  Star  to  catch  Jim 
Fletcher  that  it  is  little  wonder  that  my  horse  had  had 
enough  of  it  when  we  got  into  the  straight.’' 

Never  mind,  Mr.  Devereux,  you’ll  ride  the  winner  of 
the  Liverpool  before  two  or  three  years  are  over.  All 
trades  require  a little  practice,  and,”  she  said,  leaning  over 
the  coach  to  speak  to  him,  “ you  can  ride,  you  know.”  . 

Charlie  made  no  reply,  but  if  ever  eyes  acknowledged 
the  balm  poured  into  wounded  vanity,  he  did.  Men,  and 
more  especially  young  men,  are  wont  to  think  tenderly  of 
women  who  bind  up  their  hurts  in  this  wise.  Charlie  con- 
cealed his  feelings  tolerably  well,  but  he  felt  in  his  heart 
he  had  thrown  the  race  away,  and  firmly  believed  that  if 
he  had  never  let  Jim  Fletcher  get  more  than  some  ten  or  a 
dozen  lengths  in  front  of  him,  he  would  have  beaten  him. 
And  now  the  horses  come  up,  and,  with  many  handshakes 
and  hearty  wishes  for  meeting  again,  the  little  party  breaks 
up,  the  Devereux  and  Kynastons  returning  to  North  Leach, 
while  Gilbert  Slade  and  Mr.  Jocelyn  again  crossed  the 
Nottinghamshire  border. 


HE  bitter  north-east  wind  has  at  last  departed,  the 


swallows  in  scores  are  cutting  the  clear,  pure,  sweet 
air.  The  spring  handicaps  are  things  of  the  past  ; the 
trees  are  all  in  the  glory  of  their  early  foliage ; and  spring 
its  fast  melting  into  glorious  summer. 

The  London  season  is  in  full  swing,  strawberries  are 
rapidly  becoming  within  the  reach  of  people  of  moderate 


VI. — Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe. 


SADDLE  AND  SABRBL 


4^ 

incomes ; the  Derby  has  been  lost  and  won,  and  Ascot  is 
a thing  to  be  looked  back  upon  with  feelings  of  bitter 
anguish,  or  joyous  murmurs  of  victory.  The  Row  is  all 
alive  this  bright  June  morning,  thronged  with  the  votaries 
of  fashion,  thronged  with  those  who  would  fain  pass  as, 
such,  crowded  with  cynics  who  watch  the  gaudy  parade 
with  scoffing  eyes.  Yes,  with  struggling  young  men,  who 
only  wish  their  profession  would  leave  them  no  leisure  to 
show  there  ; with  men  who  cannot  get  rid  of  their  weari- 
ness ; with  men  who  have  quite  got  rid  of  their  money,  but 
cling  to  the  gay  pageant  from  habit,  and  as  the  cheapest 
amusement  that  is  left  to  them  ; young  ladies,  whose  rosy 
cheeks,  sparkling  eyes,  and  animated  manner  betoken  that 
they  are  new  to  the  joys  of  the  season  ; their  more  expe- 
rienced sisters,  with  the  languid  air  of  those  who  have 
awoke  to  the  knowledge  that  ‘‘  the  gilt  is  off  the  ginger- 
bread ; veteran  campaigners,  both  married  and  single, 
painfully  alive  to  the  misery  ot  their  exacting  dressmakers, 
wearily  conscious  of  those  four  new  dresses  for  Ascot  that 
have  produced  no  results ; the  equestrians  canter  up  and 
down  with  careless  smile,  as  if  Care  never  sat  behind  the 
horseman,  although  young  Locksley  wonders  whether  his 
hack  will  ever  be  paid  for ; while  Mr.  Manners  carries  a 
note  in  his  breast-pocket  from  McGillup,  the  livery-stable 
keeper,  with  an  intimation  that  that  is  the  last  mount  he 
can  be  supplied  with,  till  he,  McGillup,  has  had  something 
on  account. 

Looking  on  at  the  queer  raree-show  is  a man  who  seldom 
troubles  it.  A slight,  wiry,  clean-shaved  man,  with  keen 
dark  eyes  and  a most  determined  expression  about  the 
mouth.  He  stoops  slightly,  and  his  hair  is  heavily  shot 
with  white  ; his  dress  is  peculiar,  scrupulously  neat,  but 
slightly  old-fashioned ; but  though  Norman  Slade  would 
never  have  been  accused  of  spending  much  money  on  his 
attire,  yet  the  man  would  have  been  a very  poor  judge 
indeed  who  took  him  for  anything  but  a gentleman.  He 
has  possessed  himself  of  a chair,  and  having  lighted  a 
cigar,  sits  there  ruminating.  He  seldom  has  occasion  to 
raise  his  hat,  for  with  ladies  his  acquaintance  seems  to  be 
very  limited.  But  with  the  other  sex  it  is  different.  Nod 


SIR  RONALD  RADCLIFFB. 


43 


after  nod  is  exchanged  with  Norman,  and  many  of  those 
who  salute  him  are  members  of  the  aristocracy,  or  well- 
known  men  about  town.  Norman  Slade,  although  his 
name  figures  neither  in  the  Peerage  nor  in  Burke’s  Landed 
Gentry,  comes  of  a good  and  perfectly  well-known  family; 
but  it  is  chiefly  through  his  passion  for  the  Turf  and  his 
long  career  about  town  that  he  has  acquired  the  numerous 
acquaintances  which  he  undoubtedly  possesses.  Men,  as 
a rule,  like  and  respect,  but  are  just  a little  afraid  of 
Norman  ; he  is  what  is  termed  “ thoroughly  straight,”  a 
word  of  great  significance  on  the  Turf ; he  is  an  excellent 
companion,  full  of  anecdote,  and  can  be  most  amusing 
when  pleased  with  those  about  him.  But,  as  before  said, 
he  has  a rough  edge  to  his  tongue,  and,  if  annoyed,  can  be 
bitterly  sarcastic.  He  has  lounged  into  the  Park  this 
morning  to  indulge  in  what  he  calls  a “ think.”  During 
the  past  week  he  has  met  Major  Kynaston  at  dinner,  and 
it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that,  although  he  had  never 
encountered  him,  a man  like  Norman  Slade  did  not  know 
Major  Kynaston  pretty  well  by  repute.  The  Major  en- 
joyed a reputation  that  even  he  would  have  deemed  it 
desirable  to  bury  if  possible  ; nobody  could  have  brought 
any  direct  charge  against  him,  but  it  is  equally  certain 
that  nobody  would  ever  have  described  the  Major  as 
“ thoroughly  straight.”  He  was  notoriously  lucky  at  ecarU^ 
and  indeed  at  cards  generally,  while  he  w^s  equally 
considered  a terribly  sharp  practitioner  in  his  betting 
transactions. 

Of  all  this  Norman  Slade  was  well  aware  ; but  what  was 
it  to  him  ? He  would  have  grinned  at  the  idea  of  the 
Major  inveigling  him  into  any  little  things  to  his  detriment 
on  either  card-table  or  race-course  ; but  at  this  dinner 
Major  Kynaston  had  not  only  mentioned  having  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Gilbert,  but  had  very  much  exaggerated 
the  extent  of  their  intimacy.  Now  Norman  was  fond  of 
his  nephew,  and  had  often  said,  “ Thank  God,  the  boy  is 
no  fool ; ” but  he  knew  by  repute  what  a very  pretty  and 
attractive  woman  Mrs.  Kynaston  was,  and  in  his  own 
vernacular  he  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  pair  might 
be  a little  too  much  for  any  “ young  one/’  be  he  ever  so 


44 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


clever.  He  had  not  heard  of  Bertie  for  some  time,  and 
was  far  too  good  a judge,  if  he  really  had  got  intimate  with 
these  Kynastons,  to  interfere  directly.  But  he  was  not 
going  to  see  his  favourite  nephew  plucked  and  made  a fool 
of  either ; and  it  was  notorious  that  many  a plump  pigeon 
had  emerged  from  the  Kynaston  dovecot  so  utterly  devoid 
of  feathers  that  his  dearest  friends  stood  aghast  at  the 
completeness  of  the  operation.  Gilbert  Slade,  however,  as 
we  know,  was  in  no  such  danger  as  his  uncle  pictured. 
He  had  seen  nothing  of  Mrs.  Kynaston  since  Lincoln 
Races,  and,  though  thinking  her  a very  pretty  and  pleasant 
woman  to  talk  to,  had  been  by  no  means  fascinated ; he 
did  not  possess  that  inflammable  and  susceptible  tempera- 
ment that  is  so  easily  smitten  with  love-fever.  His  was 
one  of  those  harder  natures,  somewhat  slow  to  feel  anything 
of  that  kind,  but  who,  when  they  do  succumb  to  the  arrow 
of  the  rosy  god,  are  wont  to  love  with  a strong  earnestness 
not  easily  diverted  from  its  purpose. 

But  though  Gilbert  Slade  would  have  freely  acknowledged 
the  charms  of  either  Mrs.  Kynaston  or  Miss  Devereux,  yet 
he  had  thought  but  little  about  them  since  he  had  wished 
them  “ good-bye.*’  His  regiment  had  moved,  as  he  had 
said  it  would,  up  to  the  North  from  Aldershot,  and  the 
consequence  was  that  Gilbert  had  baen  little  in  London 
this  season. 

The  Kynastons  had  thrown  up  The  Firs  at  the  end  of 
the  hunting  season,  and  were  now  quietly  established  in  a 
snug  little  house  in  Mayfair.  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  a woman 
who  went  a good  deal  into  society ; there  were  people  who 
declined  to  know  her,  saying  that  her  flirtations  were 
rather  too  numerous  and  pronounced  for  their  taste ; but 
she  had  never  committed  herself  by  causing  a grave  scan- 
dal, and  in  many  houses  was  a favoured  guest.  As  for  the 
Major,  he  took  his  own  way  in  London;  he  was  never  seen 
with  his  wife,  and  rarely  in  society;  he  had  his  own  haunts 
and  amusements,  such  as  the  club  card-room,  bachelor 
dinners,  little  theatrical  suppers,  trips  down  to  suburban 
meetings,  etc.  He  and  his  wife  certainly  lived  under  the 
same  roof,  but  when  in  London  saw  very  little  of  each 
other — their  dining  iitc-i-tiU  being  a rare  occurrence,  and 


SIR  RONALD  RADCLIFFE. 


4S 


the  Major  was  not  given  to  entertaining.  Mrs.  Kynastoi- 
always  pleaded  their  poverty  on  this  point;  but  for  all  that, 
it  was  notorious  amongst  her  intimates  that  she  gave  the 
nicest  little  lunches  possible.  There  were  never,  at  the 
outside,  above  half-a-dozen  people,  and  there  was  no 
laboured  profusion,  but  the  three  or  four  dishes  were 
admirably  cooked  and  the  wine  always  undeniable. 

Norman  Slade  had  been  rather  indignant  at  finding 
Major  Kynaston  amongst  the  people  he  had  been  asked 
to  meet.  He  was  by  no  means  particular,  and  had  met 
queer  people  at  the  dinner-table  before  now,  but  he  had 
always  disliked  all  he  had  heard  about  Kynaston,  and 
when  they  met  he  conceived  an  actual  antipathy  to  him. 
He  was  a man  strong  in  his  dislikes,  and  it  so  happened 
the  Major  had  been  placed  next  him  on  this  occasion. 
Kynaston,  for  his, own  purposes,  had  grossly  exaggerated 
his  acquaintance  with  Gilbert,  which  was,  in  reality,  of 
the  very  slightest,  as  he  had  seen  but  little  of  him  on  the 
one  occasion  of  their  meeting.  Moreover,  like  most  of  his 
class,  he  had  a tremendous  idea  of  his  own  astuteness  ; he 
was  always  vaunting  that  nobody  ever  got  over  Dick 
Kynaston,  and  fell,  as  such  men  invariably  do,  into  the 
mistake  of  thinking  he  could  turn  his  fellows  inside  out. 
He  thought  Norman  Slade  might  give  him  many  a valu- 
able hint  in  Turf  matters.  He  had  heard  of  that  gentle- 
man’s reputation  for  reticence,  but  only  let  him — Dick 
Kynaston — make  his  acquaintance,  and  he  would  very 
soon  worm  out  of  him  what  he  knew. 

Norman  Slade  actually  swelled  with  indignation  at  that 
dinner,  when,  under  an  affectation  of  boisterous  jocularity, 
he  recognized  that  the  Major  was  actually  attempting  to 
pump  him  I Can  you  fancy  what  the  feelings  of  a crack 
leader  at  the  Old  Bailey  would  be  at  being  cross-examined 
by  Mr.  Briefless?  But  after  a while  Norman  began  to 
take  a saturnine  pleasure  in  the  operation,  though  the 
Major  would  have  been  hardly  reassured  could  he  have 
heard  Slade’s  remark  to  himself  as  he  walked  home : 

“ If  that  chattering  beast  puts  together  all  he  has  got 
out  of  me,  he’ll  find  it  amounts  to  very  little,  and  is  more 
calculated  to  mislead  him  than  not.’* 


46 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


The  Major,  on  the  contrary,  went  home  with  the  impres- 
sion that  he  had  quite  subdued  the  slight  prejudice  against 
him  on  the  part  of  Norman  Slade  to  commence  with  ; that 
he  had  parted  with  that  gentleman  on  the  most  friendly 
terms,  and  had  already  possessed  himself  to  some  slight 
extent  with  Slade's  views  on  forthcoming  Turf  events. 
We  do  at  times  go  home  pluming  ourselves  on  the  favour- 
able impression  we  have  produced,  serenely  unconscious 
that  our  host  and  hostess  may  have  mutually  agreed  that 
as  it  was  the  first,  so  should  it  be  the  last  time  we  gather 
round  their  hospitable  board.  There  is  no  end  to  the 
limit  of  human  vanity,  and  the  people  who  honestly  recog- 
nise that  they  have,  to  use  a slang  phrase,  not  “ come  off" 
in  a social  gathering  are  few  and  far  between.  Most  of 
us  believe  that  it  is  our  jest  or  repartee  that  gave  brilliancy 
to  the  meeting,  or  that  it  was  our  never  being  vouchsafed 
an  opportunity  clothed  the  gathering  with  such  unmiti- 
gated dulness.  No  man  had  a higher  opinion  of  himself 
as  a conversationalist  than  the  Major.  He  had  a good 
stock  of  stories,  and  not  hackneyed  stories,  which  he  told 
well,  and  he  had  a jovial  ofif*hand  sort  of  manner,  very  apt 
to  impose  upon  those  who  were  not  shrewd  observers. 
He  never  made  a greater  mistake  than  when  he  thought 
he  had  imposed  upon  Norman  Slade.  The  gentleman, 
who  had  carefully  avoided  knowing  him  for  some  years, 
was  never  so  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  correctness  of 
his  judgment  as  at  this  moment. 

Suddenly  a tall,  haggard-looking  man  stopped  abruptly 
opposite  Norman,  and  with  a curt  “ How  d’ye  do,  Slade?” 
sat  himself  down  on  the  adjacent  chair.  The  merest  novice 
could  have  made  no  mistake  about  the  status  of  the  new- 
comer. He  was  undoubtedly  a man  about  whose  position 
in  the  world  there  could  be  little  doubt,  though  the  worn 
and  haggard  face  was  that  of  a man  who,  though  still  in 
his  prime,  was  living  a life  that  must  break  the  strongest 
constitution  if  persisted  in.  The  dark  circles  under  the 
eyes,  and  the  careworn  lines  about  the  mouth,  were  indi- 
cative of  a man  who  kept  abnormal  hours,  and  never 
ceased  battling  with  fortune,  and  his  face  did  not  belie 


SIR  RONALD  RADCLIFFE.  47 

Lim — play  in  some  shape  was  pretty  much  Sir  Ronald 
Radcliffe’s  idea  of  existence. 

‘‘Nice  morning,  Slade,’*  he  said,  as  he  settled  himself 
in  a chair.  “ Not  often  you  come  amongst  the  trees  and 
the  dickey  birds,  and  you’re  about  right.  Awful  bore,  you 
know,  if  it’s  only  the  taking  your  hat  off.  Don’t  know 
why  I come  here,  Knowing  such  a lot  of  women  as  I do. 
Heard  anything  of  old  Bill  Smith  lately  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  Norman,  gravely.  “I’d  a few  lines  from 
him  not  long  ago,  in  which  he  said  he  had  small  hopes  of 
his  half-dozen  two-year-olds  this  year,  that  they  were  all 
backward,  and  he  believed  most  of  them  bad — in  short,  I 
am  afraid,  Radcliffe,  that  Bill  has  gone  to  the  deuce. 
There  isn’t  such  a horseman  on  the  Turf,  there  isn’t  such 
a judge  in  a trial  in  England,  but  I hear  from  up  in  the 
North  that  they  can  trust  him  no  longer.  I don’t  mean 
that  he  isn’t  square  enough,  but  that  drink  has  laid  hold 
of  him,  and  there’s  no  depending  on  his  being  sober  when 
w^anted.” 

“ End  of  everything  when  it  comes  to  that,”  said  Sir 
Ronald.  “ A fellow  gets  mistaking  the  winning-post  and 
all  sorts  of  games.” 

“ Ah,  well,”  said  Slade,  dreamily,  “ you  and  I,  Radcliffe, 
have  landed  many  a pretty  coup  out  of  poor  old  Bill’s 
inspirations.  I shall  go  up  and  stay  with  him  about  the 
back  end,  and  I’ll  slip  you  a line  then,  and  tell  you  what  I 
think  of  him.  As  for  the  horses,  I don’t  suppose  his  young 
ones  are  worth  looking  at.” 

“ It’s  getting  about  time  I had  a turn  over  something,” 
replied  the  baronet,  moodily.  “ Money  is  getting  scarce 
as  corn  was  in  the  bad  times  of  Pharaoh.  Don’t  know 
how  the  deuce  you  manage,  Norman  ; things  never  seem 
to  fly  up  and  hit  you  in  the  face.” 

“Well,  Radcliffe,”  rejoined  Slade,  “I  neither  bet  nor 
spend  money  like  you — haven’t  got  it,  and  never  had  it, 
so  I can’t.  I go  for  a coup  now  and  again,  as  you  know, 
but  then  it  is  on  the  strength  of  very  excellent  information, 
and  I always  stand  to  win  a good  stake  at  comparatively 
a small  risk.  My  usual  betting  is  a thing  that  never  makes 


SADDLE  AND  SABREL 


48 

me  uncomfortable,  and  as  for  my  whist,  shillings  and  half- 
crowns  content  me.” 

“ By  Jove  !”  said  Sir  Ronald,  turning  half  round  in  his 
chair  and  surveying  his  companion  in  languid  astonish- 
ment. “ What  a deuce  of  a lot  of  time  you  must  have  to 
spare ! Why,  it  would  take  you  hours,  and  be  a sinful 
waste  of  luck,  to  collect  a few  pounds  at  that  price.” 

Never  you  mind,”  rejoined  Slade ; “ I only  play  for 
amusement.” 

“Of  course — so  does  everybody;  whist  is  a healthy 
recreation.  My  dear  Norman,  beware  of  indolence  ; and 
whist,  for  such  pitiful  points  as  you  mention,  is  a waste  of 
those  golden  hours,  concerning  which  that  impostor,  the 
bee,  is  always  dangled  before  our  eyes.  Don’t  know  much 
about  that  insect  myself,  but  a fellow  conversant  with  his 
habits  told  me  the  other  day  that  the  bee  was  nothing  like 
such  a fool  as  these  ballad-mongers  made  him  out ; that 
when  he  had  the  chance,  he  infinitely  preferred  stealing 
honey  from  the  nearest  grocer’s  to  toiling  for  it  on  his  own 
account. 

“ Well,  Baronet,”  rejoined  Slade ; “ you  and  I are  old 
friends,  and  I’m  not  likely  to  leave  you  out  in  the  cold 
whenever  I get  a chance.  You  can  work  a commission  as 
well  as  anybody  I know,  and  I know  from  experience ; 
don’t  cackle.  But,  honestly,  at  the  present  moment  I 
know  nothing  more  than  most  racing  men  about  coming 
events  ; and  as  for  what  you  want,  a real  good  chance  at 
long  odds,  have  no  conception  of  such  a thing.” 

“Well,”  rejoined  the  Baronet,  “much  obliged  to  you 
for  your  good  opinion,  old  man.  The  financial  crisis  pre- 
sents its  constantly-recurring  aspect ; but  there’s  nothing 
more  to  be  done  than,  in  the  words  of  the  ballad,  ‘ Fear 
not,  but  trust  in  Providence,’  and  devoutly  hope  my  credi- 
tors will  trust  in  me;”  and  with  this  Sir  Ronald  picked 
himself  out  of  his  chair,  and,  with  a slight  nod  to  his  com- 
panion, strolled  onwards. 

“ Good  fellow  that,”  muttered  Slade ; “ and,  for  all  his 
swagger  and  languid  airs,  just  as  ^cute  a man  about  racing 
as  I know.  They  tell  me  he  plays  a capital  rubber  be- 
sides : but  it  must  all  beat  him  at  last*  He’s  an  extrava- 


FURZEDON  STARTS  ON  HIS  WAR-PATH. 


49 


gant  man,  and  perpetually  playing  for  stakes  out  of  all 
proportion  to  his  capital.  I wonder  what  Sir  Ronald 
began  the  world  with.  He  had  a fair  income,  no  doubt, 
to  start  with,  but  I should  think  he  has  reduced  it  a good 
deal  since  he  came  into  the  property,  and,  from  all  ac- 
counts, her  ladyship  is  not  likely  to  make  his  income  go 
further.'’ 

As  for  the  subject  of  these  remarks,  he  strolled  in  his 
usual  listless  fashion  towards  Hyde  Park  Corner,  exchang- 
ing greetings  right  and  left  on  his  way.  Everybody  seemed 
to  know  him,  and  with  every  one  did  he  seem  popular. 
Women  smiled  and  bowed  to  him  with  empressement ; men 
greeted  him  heartily,  and  not  with  that  careless  nod  that 
signifies  utter  indifference  at  meeting  one.  Radcliffe  was 
as  popular  a man  as  any  in  London  ; but  how  he  had 
lasted  so  long  with  his  extravagant  habits  was  an  enigma 
that  puzzled  those  who  knew  him  best  extremely. 


VII. — Furzedon  starts  on  His  War-path. 

^^TTTELL,  Lettice,  I am  very  glad  to  have  you  with 
V V • again,  though  I don’t  quite  know  how  I shall 

amuse  you  now  you  are  here.” 

‘‘Nonsense,  auntie,”  rejoined  Miss  Devereux,  laughing. 
“ You  London  people  always  seem  to  us  country  folks  to 
go  out  so  much.  I am  sure  when  I pass  six  weeks  with 
you  I go  out  more  than  I do  in  all  the  remaining  weeks  of 
the  year.” 

“I  am  a sociable  being,”  laughed  Mrs.  Connop;  “and 
as  Providence  has  given  me  the  wherewithal  to  keep  up  a 
good  house,  I like  to  see  people  about.  I like  to  see  young 
people,  too,  about  me.  It  keeps  one  from  getting  rus'ty, 
and  I have  no  idea  of  settling  down  into  an  old  woman 
before  my  time.” 

Nobody  certainly  would  have  described  Mrs.  Connop 
as  an  old  lady.  She  carried  her  fifty  years  wonderfully 
well;  without  Meeting  any  undue  juvenility,  she  was  as 


50 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


sprightly  a woman  of  her  age  as  any  in  London,  fond  of 
society,  full  of  go,  and  a fluent  talker,  she  had  got  together 
a large  if  somewhat  mixed  acquaintance.  She  went  every- 
where, and,  though  it  is  quite  possible  that  fastidious  people 
would  have  pronounced  her  not  in  society,  she  mixed  freely 
in  an  extensive  social  world  of  her  own.  She  might  be 
unrecognised  by  the  queens  of  the  fashionable  world,  but 
there  are  various  circles  in  London  that  exchange  the  most 
friendly  relations,  although  their  names  never  figure  in  the 
Morning  Post.  A young  lady  under  Mrs.  Connop’s  chap- 
eronage  would  be  certain  t®  have  a good  time  of  it,  although, 
perhaps,  she  would  not  be  seen  in  the  stately  mansions  of 
Belgravia.  Lettie  made  no  disguise  about  it : she  always 
looked  forward  eagerly  to  an  invitation  to  Onslow  Gardens. 

The  Devereux  were  an  energetic  family,  and  never 
allowed  themselves  to  be  bored  anywhere ; they  were 
people  who  could  always  make  for  themselves  occupation, 
and  although  North  Leach  was  a quiet  enough  place  when 
the  hunting-season  was  over,  yet  Miss  Devereux  never 
found  her  time  hang  heavily  on  her  hands.  Still,  Lettie 
invariably  regarded  her  London  visit  as  one  of  the  best 
‘‘  bits  ” in  her  year.  There  was,  too,  just  a little  bit  of 
uncertainty  about  it,  that  gave  a zest  to  the  invitation. 
Although  her  aunt  had  asked  her  regularly  since  she  had 
left  school,  yet  there  was  always  a possibility  that  that 
enterprising  lady  might  take  it  into  her  head  to  go  abroad 
for  a time.  This  year  Lettie  was  looking  forward  to  seeing 
a good  deal  of  the  Kynastons  while  in  town  ; she  did  not 
care  very  much  about  the  Major,  but  she  had  struck  up  a 
great  friendship  with  Mrs.  Kynaston.  That  lady  recipro- 
cated the  feeling.  There  was  a freshness  about  Lettie 
which,  though  it  a little  amused  her,  she  could  not  but 
regret  the  loss  of  in  herself.  Married  to  a man  like  the 
Major,  she  had  not  been  likely  to  retain  that  quality  long; 
and  there  were  times  when  Kate  Kynaston  felt  bitterly 
sick  of  the  life  she  was  condemned  to  lead.  The  only 
daughter  of  fashionable,  but  impecunious  parents,  it  had 
been  impressed  upon  her  from  her  childhood  that  she  was 
bound  to  marry  the  first  eligible  suitor  that  presented  him- 
self, Captain  Kynaston,  as  be  was  then,  a fast  young 


FURZEDON  STARTS  ON  HIS  WAR-PATH.  5 1 

man  in  a crack  Dragoon  regiment,  and  with  the  reputation 
of  considerably  more  money  than  he  had  ever  possessed, 
seemed  to  Kate’s  father  to  fulfil  all  reasonable  expecta- 
tions ; it  is  true,  when  they  came  to  the  settlements,  that 
battered  old  roue  felt  somewhat  disappointed,  but  things 
had  gone  too  far  to  retract,  and  he  could  do  no  more  than 
to  see  that  such  settlement  as  Kynaston  could  or  would 
make  was  tightly  tied  up.  There  is  much  virtue  in  a 
settlement  to  gentlemen  of  the  Kynaston  type,  as  it  not 
uncommonly  becomes  to  them  after  a few  years  the  sole 
source  of  income  upon  which  they  can  confidently  count. 
The  Major’s  case  was  not  exactly  so  bad  as  that,  but  with 
his  tastes  for  good  living,  the  card-table,  and  the  race- 
course, his  income,  outside  that  settled  on  his  wife,  might 
be  termed  a little  precarious. 

There  were  people  who  spoke  slightingly  and  shook 
their  heads  over  Kate  Kynaston ’s  doings,  although  civil 
enough  to  her  when  they  met.  Kate’s  audacity  sometimes 
paralysed  them,  and  Kate’s  quick  tongue  undoubtedly 
awed  them.  She  was  a dangerous  woman  to  splinter 
lances  with  ; she  had  a quick  eye  for  the  joints  in  her 
adversary’s  harness ; she  mixed  much  in  the  world,  and 
was  thoroughly  au  courani  with  all  the  fashionable  scandal 
of  that  world ; and  the  quick,  rapier-like  thrust  she  could 
deliver  under  a traducer’s  guard  had  made  women  won- 
drous shy  of  personally  attacking  her.  But  for  all  that, 
there  were  times  when  Kate  tired  bitterly  of  this  ceaseless 
battle  of  life — of  this  continuous  struggle  to  hold  her  own 
in  the  weary  treadmill  of  society.  It  is  all  very  well  if  you 
are  one  of  the  heavy  galleons  that  sail  under  a recognised 
flag,  but  for  the  dashing  privateers  that  flaunt  their  own 
gay  colours,  and  only  hold  their  own  by  finesse,  adroitness 
and  cajolery,  its  fruits  savour  of  the  Dead  Sea. 

Kate  Kynaston  was  just  the  woman  who  in  the  last  cen- 
tury might  have  renounced  all  pomps  and  vanities,  and 
betaken  herself  to  a convent,  might  also  very  probably 
have  got  painfully  bored  with  the  seclusion  in  six  months, 
emerged  again  into  the  world  and  become  more  mondaine 
than  ever  ; but  in  the  days  of  which  I am  writing  this  was 
lxot  to  be  thought  of ; moreover,  the  Major,  if  he  had  HQ 


52 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


great  regard  for  his  wife,  would  have  been  the  last  man  to 
permit  anything  of  that  sort.  Mrs.  Kynaston  usually 
assented  to  his  wishes  with  easy  indifference,  but  the  Major 
had  a dim  perception  that  there  might  come  a time  when 
some  point  should  raise  a battle  royal  between  them,  and 
that,  should  such  arise,  Kate  might  prove  troublesome  to 
coerce. 

It  is  singular  how  we  re-act  upon  each  other’s  destinies ; 
we  go  along  on  our  own  jog-trot  road  till  suddenly  some 
new  being,  of  whose  existence  we  have  so  far  never  heard, 
crosses  our  path,  and  changes  the  whole  current  of  our 
destiny  Impossible  to  say  what  this  new  factor  in  the 
woof  of  our  lives  may  do  for  us,  but  so  it  is ; his  advent 
changes  our  fate  for  good  or  evil.  Mr.  Furzedon,  a few 
months  ago,  was  utterly  unknown,  even  by  name,  to  all 
the  characters  in  this  story ; even  Charlie  Devereux,  whose 
acquaintance  with  him  was  the  longest,  had  known  him 
scarce  eighteen  months ; and  yet  this  man  is  destined  to 
considerably  affect  most  of  the  leading  characters  in  this 
narrative.  Mr  Furzedon  has  left  Cambridge,  not  seeing 
his  way  into  getting  much  more  profit  out  of  that  Uni- 
versity. He  gave  some  very  extensive  wine  and  supper 
parties  previous  to  his  departure,  at  which  no  expense  was 
spared.  As  before  said,  he  was  a man  who  could  spend 
money  freely  when  he  saw  a possible  return  for  doing  so. 
And  in  this  instance  he  was  anxious  to  thoroughly  clinch 
his  acquaintance  with  all  the  eligible  young  men  he  had 
contrived  to  get  intimate  with. 

Mr.  Furzedon  has  established  himself  in  chambers  in 
Ryder  Street,  and,  as  he  sits  lingering  over  a latish  break- 
fast, is  meditating  deeply  how  he  is  to  set  about  working 
his  way  into  society  of  some  sort.  A shrewd,  pushing 
man,  callous  to  a rebuff,  and  of  considerable  tenacity  of 
purpose,  he  was  pretty  certain  to  attain  his  end  before  long. 
As  he  had  gone  to  the  University  with  the  sole  purpose  of 
making  desirable  acquaintance,  so  he  had  lately  contrived 
to  get  himself  elected  to  a club.  It  was  not,  perhaps,  one 
of  the  crack  establishments  of  the  West  End,  but  had  a 
fair  second-rate  reputation,  and  its  ballot  was  known  to  be 
UQt  ^ ^io^ent  as  ia  some  possessed  of  greater 


FURZEDON  STARTS  ON  HIS  WAR-PATH.  §3 


Like  even  the  best  of  clubs,  its  members  were  rather  a 
mixed  lot.  Mr.  Furzedon  frequented  the  Parthian  with 
great  assiduity ; he  set  himself  to  work  to  learn  the  names 
and  history  of  the  members,  and  it  is  astonishing  how  much 
a man  who  makes  that  kind  of  thing  his  business  can  pick 
up  about  his  brethren.  There  are  clubs  of  which  it  is 
said : ‘‘  They  never  let  the  wrong  man  in  there.’*  Sheer 
fallacy  ! The  most  exclusive  coterie,  like  any  other  com- 
munity, cannot  avoid  falling  into  that  mistake.  If  at  times 
institutions  like  the  Parthian,  owing  to  a shortness  of 
members,  are  not  quite  so  strict  in  their  ballot,  it  naturally 
follows  that  the  proportion  of  black  sheep  is  larger,  and  it 
was  in  sifting  the  black  from  the  white  that  Mr.  Furzedon 
was  now  engaged.  The  conduct  of  clubmen  is  erratic  ; 
there  is  the  pleasant,  genial,  talkative  man,  known  to  every 
one,  but  of  whose  life  nobody  can  tell  anything  after  he 
has  passed  the  club  porter  ; there  is  the  man  who  dines 
there  three  hundred  nights  out  of  the  year,  but  who  appar- 
ently knows  nobody,  and  invariably  takes  his  meal  in  soli- 
tude ; there  is  the  member  who  drowns  you  with  his  own 
affairs ; the  irascible  member  who  is  in  weekly  communi- 
cation with  the  Committee. 

It  was  not  likely  that  Furzedon  could  arrive  at  a sketch 
of  the  lives  of  all  of  his  brethren,  but  he  did  of  a great 
many.  He  himself  was  merely  a representative  of  a type 
found  in  all  similar  institutions,  the  man  who  invariably 
calls  the  waiters  and  inquires  the  name  of  any  one  whose 
face  he  does  not  know.  Where  Furzedon  thought  hi? 
inquiries  satisfactory,  he  endeavoured  to  scrape  an  acquaint 
ance.  This  brings  in  again  another  type  of  club  man,  not 
quite  such  a bore,  perhaps,  as  Joe  Thompson,  who,  as  the 
legend  goes,  always  commenced  his  insidious  advances  by 
treading  on  his  victim’s  corns  and  then  apologising,  but 
Mr.  Furzedon  was  conscious  that  he  must  do  something 
more  than  that.  Club  acquaintance  by  no  means  leads  to 
intimacy  with  social  surroundings.  He  was  busy  this 
morning  thinking  what  houses  he  could  call  at,  and  Mr. 
Furzedon  felt  gloomily  that,  with  the  end  he  had  in  view, 
they  were  very  circumscribed  in  number.  There  was  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  but  then  be  did  not  know  where  she  was.  She 


u 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


was  a lady  with  no  fixed  abode,  and  though  she  and  the 
Major  usually  spent  six  months  of  their  year  in  town,  yet 
they  rented  their  house  as  they  chanced  to  pick  it  up.  Ah  ! 
there  was  Mrs.  Connop,  that  was  the  aunt  Miss  Devereux 
always  came  to  stay  with,  and  surely  Miss  Devereux  must 
be  in  town  by  now.  No  difficulty  in  finding  Mrs.  Connop, 
she  had  a permanent  abode,  her  address  was  easily  to  be 
arrived  at  in  the  Blue  Book,  and  if  he  could  only  see  Miss 
Devereux,  she  would  probably  know  where  Mrs.  Kynaston 
resided. 

Adhering  to  his  plan,  Mr.  Furzedon  made  his  way  out 
towards  South  Kensington  that  afternoon,  and  in  Piccadilly 
he  passed  Gilbert  Slade.  Now  he  had  never  seen  that 
gentleman,  except  at  Lincoln  races,  and  the  Slades  as  a 
race  were  not  people  who  knew  you  lightly.  Furzedon 
even  on  that  occasion  had  hardly  exchanged  half-a-dozen 
words  with  him,  but,  constant  to  the  principle  he  had  laid 
down,  he  nevertheless  nodded  genially  to  Gilbert.  That 
gentleman’s  face  simply  expressed  blank  recognition,  and 
then  he  returned  the  salutation  by  slightly  touching  his 
hat.  Gilbert  Slade,  in  good  truth,  had  no  recollection  of 
who  it  was  that  had  bowed  to  him  ; but  Mr.  Furzedon  had 
two  points  invaluable  to  him  in  the  role  he  proposed  to 
play — he  had  a capital  memory  for  both  names  and  faces. 

That  afternoon  witnessed  the  debut  of  Mr.  Furzedon  in 
Onslow  Gardens.  The  defunct  pawnbroker’s  son  had,  at 
all  events,  mastered  one  of  the  mysteries  of  fashion : he 
had  learnt  how  to  knock.  One  may  think  the  knocking  at 
a door  is  of  no  consequence,  perhaps  not  to  the  proprietors 
of  the  house,  who  may  or  may  not  hear  it,  and  who  very 
likely,  if  they  do,  pay  little  attention  to  it.  I am  not  going 
to  enter  into  that  vast  question  so  intelligible  to  those  con- 
versant with  the  history  of  the  knocker,  to  whom  the  knock 
of  the  post,  the  dun,  the  taxes,  the  begging  petitioner,  the 
borrower,  the  wealthy  but  exasperated  relative,  etc.,  areas 
easy  to  read  as  telegrams.  I am  alluding  only  to  the 
visitor’s  knock.  And  in  the  servants’  hall  this  is  interpreted 
on  a mutely  acknowledged  scale  accordingly.  On  those 
of  the  nervous,  timid  and  hesitating  knock,  they  invariably 
bestow  arrogance  and  contumely,  but  to  the  donor  of  the 


FURZEDON  STARTS  ON  HIS  WAR-PATH.  55 


bold,  audacious  roulade  on  the  knocker  they  are  invariably 
cap  in  hand.  Delicious  are  the  errors  into  which  these 
clumsy  menials  constantly  fall,  except  they  are  servants  of 
the  very  best  class : the  swaggering  manner  and  a certain 
gorgeousness  of  dress  will  constantly  impose  upon  them. 
They  kootoo  to  the  confident  stockbroker,  and  turn  up 
their  noses  at  the  more  diffident  peer. 

Mr.  Furzedon,  in  all  the  gorgeousness  of  his  summer 
raiment  preceded  by  his  dashing  peal  on  the  knocker,  wa^ 
just  the  sort  of  man  that  quiet  servitors  would  be  startled 
by.  There  was  nothing  oittrS  about  his  garments,  but 
everybody  will  understand  what  I mean  when  I say  that 
they  were  just  a little  too  glossy.  It  is  difficult  to  explain, 
but  a well-dressed  man  of  the  world  never  seems  to  put  on 
a new  coat.  Furzedon  was  wont  to  have  the  appearance 
of  having  received  his  clothes  only  the  night  before  from 
his  tailor. 

Yes,  Miss  Devereux  was  staying  there,  and  Mrs.  Connop 
would  be  very  glad  to  see  Mr.  Furzedon,  was  the  answer 
that  came  down  in  acknowledgment  of  his  cards.  Mr.  Fur- 
zedon lost  no  time  in  responding  to  the  invitation,  and  as 
he  entered  the  drawing-room  Lettice  advanced  to  meet 
him,  and,  after  shaking  hands  with  him,  at  once  presented 
him  to  her  aunt. 

“ Very  glad,  indeed,  Mr.  Furzedon,  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  I am  always  pleased  to  see  any  friends  of 
my  family  ; and  Lettie  tells  me  that  you  have  been  staying 
at  North  Leach  all  the  winter,  and  are  now  quite  a known 
man  with  the  Brocklesby.” 

“ I am  afraid  Miss  Devereux  is  a little  laughing  at  me 
when  she  says  that.  I certainly  can  claim  in  one  sense  to 
be  a well-known  man  in  that  country,  namely,  that  I was  a 
constant  attendant  at  their  meets,  and  had  capital  good 
fun  ; but  a well-known  man  is  usually  translated  into  a 
very  prominent  horseman  with  such  hounds.  I am  afraid 
I wasn’t  quite  that.  They  were  all  a little  too  good  for  me 
down  there.” 

“ Ah,  Auntie,  you  must  not  trust  to  this  mock  humility. 
Mr.  Furzedon  held  his  own  with  most  of  us,” 

“ Very  good  of  you  to  say  so,  Miss  Devereux,  and  I’ll 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


S6 

not  be  such  a fool  as  to  argue  that  view  of  the  case  with 
you.  Anyway,  Mrs.  Connop,  I had  a capital  time  at  North 
Leach,  and  two  very  jolly  days  at  Lincoln  afterwards, 
although,  sad  to  say,  the  family  banner — that  is  meta- 
phorical for  colours,  you  know — was  not  triumphant.'* 

“ Never  mind,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Connop;  “ I wasn’t  born 
a Devereux  without  knowing  something  of  these  things. 
I didn’t  see  it,  but  Charlie’s  young,  and  I’ll  go  bail  he  does 
better  yet.  From  my  recollection  of  all  those  cheery  Hunt 
Steeplechases,  the  young  ones  were  very  apt  to  get  a little 
the  worst  of  it  at  first,  but  a few  years’  practice  and  they 
turn  the  tables.  There  is  no  truer  adage,  Mr.  Furzedon, 
than  that  youth  will  be  served.  I don't  call  myself  an  old 
woman,  and  never  mean,  but  if  you  ask  me  whether  Lettie 
can  walk  me  down — well — I suspect  she  can.” 

“No,”  said  Furzedon;  “ nobody  ever  does  grow  old  in 
these  days.  Why  look  at  all  our  leading  public  men — 
boys  still,  in  spite  of  what  their  baptismal  registers  assert 
to  the  contrary.  By  the  way.  Miss  Devereux,  have  you 
seen  anything  of  the  Kynastons  since  you  have  been  in 
town  ? '* 

“Not  as  yet,”  rejoined  Lettie,  “but  I have  only  been 
here  three  days  as  yet.  In  fact,  I am  rather  surprised  at 
your  having  heard  of  my  arrival.” 

“ Well,”  replied  Furzedon,  “ that  is  a pure  piece  of  good 
fortune  on  my  part.  I remember  that  you  said  in  the 
winter  you  very  often  spent  a few  weeks  with  Mrs.  Connop 
about  this  time  of  the  year,  so  I thought  I would  call.” 

“ Charlie  tells  me  you  have  done  with  Cambridge.” 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Furzedon;  “I  never  intended  to  take 
a degree,  but  my  guardians  were  right — it  is  good  for  a 
man  to  go  to  the  University  for  a time.  It  opens  his  eyes, 
and  gives  him  a glimpse  of  the  world.” 

Mr.  Furzedon’s  guardians  were  shadowy  people  to  whom 
he  only  alluded  when  it  suited  his  purpose.  They  had 
interfered  very  little  indeed  with  him,  and  the  going  to 
Cambridge  had  been  entirely  his  own  idea,  and  of  his 
object  in  doing  so  we  are  already  aware.  He  had  been, 
moreover,  of  age  now  some  little  time,  and  was  conse- 
quently emancipated  from  the  very  light  control  his  guar- 


LADY  RAMSBURY'S  GARDEN  PARTY. 


s; 

dians  had  ever  attempted  to  exercise.  After  a little  more 
desultory  talk,  Mr.  Furzedon  rose  to  take  his  leave,  and 
received  from  Mrs.  Connop,  as  he  did  so,  a cordial  intima- 
tion that  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him  whenever  he  chose 
to  call.  He  had  also  learnt  from  Lettice  that  the  Kynas- 
tons  had  taken  a house  in  Chester  Street,  Mayfair. 

“Not  a bad  beginning,”  thought  Mr.  Furzedon,  as  he 
strolled  eastwards.  “ I’ve  got  my  foot  fairly  inside  that 
house,  and  it  will  be  my  own  fault  if  I don’t  establish 
myself  on  Mrs.  Connop’s  visiting  list.  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
too,  can  be  a very  useful  woman  to  me  if  she  likes.  I 
don’t  suppose  that  they  entertain  much,  but  I fancy  they 
have  a very  numerous  acquaintance  in  London,  and  that 
Mrs.  Kynaston  could  introduce  one  pretty  widely  if  she 
chose.” 


VIII. — Lady  Ramsbdry’s  Garden  Party. 

More  hospitable  people  than  the  Ramsburys  never 
existed.  They  lived  in  a great  red  brick  house  in 
Chelsea — one  of  those  modern  imitations  of  the  old  Eliza- 
bethan style  of  house  such  as  you  may  see  in  Pont  Street. 
It  stood  in  the  midst  of  a large  garden,  and  the  Ramsburys 
delighted  in  big  dinners  during  the  winter  months,  and  in 
large  garden-parties  in  the  summer.  What  Sir  John 
Ramsbury  had  been  knighted  for  was  rather  a mystery. 
He  was  known  as  a “ warm  ” man  in  the  City,  was  Aider- 
man  of  his  Ward,  and  though  he  had  never  passed  the 
chair,  it  was  always  regarded  that  was  an  honour  he  might 
aspire  to  any  day.  However,  he  had  attained  the  distinc- 
tion of  knighthood,  the  why  could  be  only  explained  other- 
wise than  that  he  had  been  the  chairman  of  several  com- 
mercial enterprises,  supposed  to  have  resulted  in  much 
benefit  to  the  country,  and,  what  was  rather  more  to  the 
point,  in  considerable  benefit  to  Sir  John  Ramsbury. 

Lady  Ramsbury ’s  “ gardens  ” were  a well-known  feature 
in  the  London  season.  The  company  might  be  a little 
mixed,  but  there  were  plenty  of  right  good  people  always 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


58 


to  be  found  there.  Sir  John,  as  director  of  various  com- 
panies, had  come  across  a good  deal  of  the  salt  of  this 
earth,  and  in  this  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
when  the  struggle  for  existence  waxes  har  der  and  harder, 
both  to  those  with  the  bluest  of  blood  in  their  veins  and  to 
those  born  in  the  gutter,  the  man  with  the  capability  of 
putting  money  into  his  friends’  pockets  is  a power. 

There  has  never  been  a time  when  fashion  in  pursuit  of 
its  follies  did  not  grovel  at  the  feet  of  Plutus.  How  our 
neighbours  bowed  down  at  the  shrine  of  Law,  and  many 
of  us  can  remember  when  to  sit  at  the  table  of  the  Railway 
King  was  matter  of  gratulation  to  half  the  best  society  in 
London.  Who  could  whisper  such  auriferous  secrets  into 
dainty  ears  as  he  could  ? and  though  irreverent  guardsmen 
might  put  up  their  glasses  at  some  of  the  social  solecisms 
he  was  wont  to  commit,  yet  their  seniors  and  the  mothers 
that  bore  them  were  too  worldly-wise  not  to  overlook  such 
trifles  as  those.  In  similar  fashion,  Sir  John  Ramsbury 
commanded  a considerable  number  of  guests  at  his  parties. 
He  did  the  thing  right  well ; there  was  never  any  lack  of 
everything  of  the  best  in  the  commissariat  department  at 
his  parties,  and  it  must,  in  justice  to  the  worthy  knight  and 
his  lady,  be  added  that  they  were  unconventional  people, 
but  by  no  means  vulgar.  Lady  Ramsbury  and  Mrs.  Con- 
nop  were  old  friends;  the  lamented  Connop  had  been 
mixed  up  with  various  business  speculations  in  Sir  John’s 
early  days,  before  he  blossomed  into  knighthood  and  the 
dignity  of  a house  at  Chelsea,  so  that  there  was  nothing 
singular  in  Lettie  and  her  aunt  finding  themselves  in  that 
pleasant  old  garden  one  fine  June  afternoon. 

After  shaking  hands  with  their  hostess  Mrs.  Connop  and 
her  niece  began  to  slowly  pace  the  lawn.  They  met  plenty 
of  acquaintances,  and  were  enjoying  themselves  in  a care- 
less, gossiping  way,  when  Lettie’s  eye  was  caught  by  a 
group  of  three  people  who  were  occupying  a garden-bench, 
and  conversing  somewhat  earnestly.  The  centre  of  the 
group,  and  the  person  who  had  first  attracted  her  atten- 
tion, was  a slight,  elderly  man,  with  a decided  stoop,  and 
an  eye  like  a hawk.  Seated  on  one  side  of  him  was  a 
stout  elderly  lady,  richly  dressed,  but  who  evidently  con- 


LADY  RAMSBUHY’S  GARDEN  ^ARTY 


59 


sidered  that  Nature  was  a handmaid  to  Art.  The  merest 
tyro  would  have  known  her  colour  was  not  that  of  fresh 
air  and  superabundant  life,  and  made  a shrewd  guess  that 
her  exuberant  tresses  came  straight  from  her  hairdresser’s. 
But  Lady  Melfort  was  a well-known  and  very  popular 
person.  Ascot  or  Newmarket,  Epsom  or  Doncaster,  would 
have  seemed  incomplete  without  the  presence  of  that  dash- 
ing and  evergreen  Countess.  On  the  other  was  Gilbert 
Slade.  As  far  as  Lettie  could  see,  the  conversation  rested 
principally  with  the  lady,  who  was  declaiming  volubly, 
while  Norman  Slade,  who  was  the  central  figure  of  the 
group,  merely  threw  in  an  interjectional  word  now  and 
again. 

Norman  Slade  had  no  objection  to  fighting  the  Turf 
battles  of  bygone  days  over  again  with  any  one  who  really 
understood  racing,  and  the  sporting  Peeress,  who  was  a 
thorough  enthusiast,  was  by  no  means  a bad  judge. 

“ I don’t  agree  with  you.  Lady  Melfort,”  he  ejaculated, 
in  reply  to  some  story  of  her  ladyship’s,  the  gist  of  which 
appeared  to  be  that  she  had  lost  her  money  when  she 
thought  she  ought  to  have  won  it.  “ It  is  true,  in  his  pre- 
vious form,  the  horse  ought  to  have  won,  but  it  by  no 
means  follows  there  was  any  foul  play  connected  with  his 
running  ; horses,  like  ourselves,  are  not  always  quite  them- 
selves, and  the  cleverest  trainer  sometimes  fails  to  detect 
that  his  charge  is  a little  off.  I know  that  people  con- 
nected with  Lucifer  backed  him  upon  that  occasion.” 

“ I should  like  to  know  what  his  jockey  did,”  rejoined 
her  ladyship,  sharply. 

‘‘  His  best,  I think,”  rejoined  Norman;  <‘he’s  a steady, 
civil  boy  enough,  and  we  are  rather  too  apt  to  make  the 
jockey  answerable  for  the  shortcomings  of  the  horse.” 

But  her  ladyship  was  evidently  not  convinced,  she  was 
given  to  be  somewhat  suspicious  of  unfair  play  when  her 
racing  calculations  proved  fallible. 

At  this  juncture  Gilbert  caught  sight  of  Miss  Devereux, 
and,  as  he  was  by  no  means  such  an  enthusiast  about  the 
“ sport  of  kings’*  as  his  companions,  he  at  once  raised  his 
hat  and  proceeded  to  join  her. 

“ How  d’ye  do,  Miss  Devereux  ? Rather  different 


6o 


SADDLE  AND  SABRa 


weather  from  that  when  I last  saw  you.  How  long  have 
you  been  in  town  ? ** 

“ Only  about  a week,”  rejoined  Lettie ; “ but  let  me 
introduce  you  to  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Connop,  with  whom  I 
am  staying.” 

Gilbert  bowed,  and  muttered  something  about  **  doing 
hfmself  the  pleasure  of  calling ; ” and  then  turning  to 
Lettie,  said,  “ I suppose  now  you’ll  see  the  season  out.” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  replied  the  girl.  “ I want  to  go  everywhere 
and  do  everything,  see  all  there  is  to  be  seen,  and  meet  all 
my  friends.  I suppose,  Mr.  Slade,  that  your  intentions 
are  somewhat  similar.” 

“ Ah ! it  doesn’t  signify  what  my  intentions  may  be. 
When  you’re  a soldier  you  find  the  Horse  Guards  inter- 
fere with  such  things  in  ruthless  fashion.  No,  I regret  to 
say  that  I only  got  a month’s  leave,  and  that  half  of  it  is 
already  gone.  Has  Pole  Star  won  his  spurs  yet.  Miss 
Devereux  ? ” 

“No,”  rejoined  Lettie;  “how  can  you  recall  that  day 
of  disgrace  to  me  ?” 

“ Not  disgrace,”  rejoined  Gilbert ; “ you  were  defeated, 
as  we  all  are  at  times ; but  I fancy  if  the  race  had  been 
run  over  again  your  brother  would  have  made  a closer 
thing  of  it.” 

“Ah!  I daresay  Charlie  will  have  another  opportunity 
of  distinguishing  himself  in  the  autumn.  Is  there  any  like- 
lihood of  your  being  present  at  the  Autumn  Meeting  on 
the  Carholme  ? ” 

“ It  is  very  likely,”  rejoined  Gilbert.  “ I am  quartered 
at  York,  and  I should  think  it  is  easy  to  slip  down  from 
there.  However,  it  is  a long  way  off  as  yet.” 

“ Who  was  that  gentleman  you  were  talking  to,  Mr. 
Slade?”  inquired  Miss  Devereux. 

“That  was  my  Uncle  Norman,”  replied  Gilbert.  “It 
is  not  often  that  he  leaves  his  usual  haunts  for  anything 
of  this  sort ; but,  for  some  reason,  he  is  very  fond  of  the 
Ramsburys — he  has  known  them  a good  many  years ; and 
I’ve  a vague  suspicion  that  Sir  John  did  him  a kindness  at 
some  period  of  his  life.  All  I know  is  that,  though  he  is  a 
real  good  fellow,  my  Uncle  Norman  is  peculiar,  and  it  is 


LADY  RAMSBURY'S  GARDEN  PARTY.  6t 

by  no  means  every  one  that  could  lure  him  to  their  dinner- 
table  ; not  many  people,  I fancy,  who  would  have  got  him 
to  do  a thing  of  this  kind.” 

“ I am  sure  it  is  charming,”  replied  Miss  Devereux, 
laughing ; “ such  pretty  grounds,  so  many  people,  and 
such  a good  band  to  listen  to ; I don’t  think  your  good 
uncle  is  much  to  be  pitied.” 

“ No,”  said  Gilbert ; “ but  people  differ  in  taste,  and 
this  is  not  much  in  my  Uncle  Norman’s  line.”  And  the 
conversation  turned  upon  military  affairs ; for,  not  a little 
to  Gilbert’s  surprise.  Miss  Devereux  manifested  no  small 
curiosity  anent  “ soldiering.”  It  was  easy  of  explanation. 
During  the  winter  she  and  her  brother  Charlie  had  had 
many  a talk  together  as  to  what  line  of  life  he  was  to 
pursue,  and  he  had  more  than  once  spoken  seriously  of 
the  army  as  a profession  calculated  to  suit  him  when  his 
career  at  Cambridge  was  done  with.  Lettie  warmly  ap- 
proved of  that  determination.  She  had  a v^ry  vague 
idea  of  what  a soldier’s  life  was  like ; but  thought  that  a 
man  who  was  a good  horseman  ought  to  make  a likely 
Dragoon. 

Norman  Slade  continued  to  talk  in  his  lazy  way  to  Lady 
Melfort.  The  Countess  always  amused  him,  while  he 
usually  acted  as  a pleasing  irritant  upon  her.  He  listened 
to  her  vehement  protestations  of  the  iniquities  of  the  Turf 
with  a quiet  smile,  and  invariably  exasperated  her  by 
claiming  a high  position  for  the  main  part  of  those  con- 
nected with  it,  and  declaring  that  people  who  lose  a little 
money  shrieked  and  made  bitter  wail  over  the  treachery 
that  they  had  encountered,  forgetting  about  the  extreme 
uncertainty  that  distinguishes  racing  beyond  even  most 
mundane  affairs. 

“ My  dear  Countess,”  he  would  say,  you  don’t  rail 
against  M.  Blanc  when  you  lose  your  money  at  Monte 
Carlo,  and  yet  when  you  come  to  gambling  on  the  Turf — 
and  you  know.  Lady  Melfort,  you  are  a gambler — you 
don’t  bet  merely  upon  the  races  you  understand  and  can 
form  an  opinion  about,  but  you  bet  on  all  sorts  of  handi- 
caps and  selling  races,  of  which,  concerning  the  merits  of 
the  competitors,  you  know  nothing.” 


62 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


**  Well,  I hate  to  see  a race,  Mr.  Slade,  without  having 
something  on  it.’’ 

‘‘Just  so,”  rejoined  Norman;  “then  you  couldn’t  bear 
to  see  the  ball  spinning  round  at  Monte  Carlo  without 
having  a stake  on  it,  aad,  whether  you  back  the  red  or  the 
black,  it  is  just  about  as  great  a lottery  as  some  of  these 
races  you  speculate  on.” 

If  Norman  somewhat  irritated  her.  Lady  Melfort  had  a 
profound  respect  for  his  judgment.  She  believed  him  to 
be  able  to  elucidate  many  a Turf  mystery  that  had  puzzled 
racing  people  profoundly,  and  in  this  she  was  right ; there 
were  few  men  perhaps  more  behind  the  scenes  than  Nor- 
man Slade.  There  were  not  many  Turf  robberies  of  which 
he  could  not  explain  the  history.  Pray  don’t  think  for  one 
moment  he  was  a participator  in  them.  Like  the  general 
public,  he  had  occasionally  been  a victim ; but  when 
the  scandal  connected  with  such  events  was  once  blown 
over,  a story  in  Turf  circles  is  pretty  certain  to  leak  out  in 
more  or  less  accurate  form,  and  he  sometimes  regaled  Lady 
Melfort  with  the  true  history  of  one  of  these  bygone  sur- 
prises. Like  many  men  of  his  type,  good-hearted  fellow 
though  he  was  at  bottom,  he  would  hardly  have  interfered 
to  save  any  one  in  whom  he  was  not  interested  from  being 
awfully  taken  advantage  of 

“ It  is  wonderful,”  he  was  wont  to  say,  “ the  amount  of 
foolishness  there  is  in  this  world,  and,  as  regards  racing, 
the  man  who  undertook  the  task  of  being  guardian  to  the 
dovecot  would  have  a thankless  and  onerous  office.  These 
‘ squabs,’  if  they  have  any  independence,  emerged  from  the 
parental  dwelling  with  a complacent  self-sufficiency  no 
warning  could  disturb.” 

He  would  have  interfered  fast  enough  on  behalf  of  his 
favourite  nephew  had  he  seen  occasion,  but  Gilbert  was  a 
man  quite  able  to  take  care  of  himself,  aad  with  no  taint  of 
gambling  in  his  blood.  Norman  in  his  varied  life'had  seen 
young  men  come  to  grief  from  various  causes,  and  had 
more  than  once,  at  the  instigation  of  anxious  relatives,  in- 
terfered in  their  behalf.  One  rule  he  always  firmly  adhered 
to.  “ Don’t  ask  me,”  he  would  say,  “ to  meddle  in  the 
afffUrs  pf  a young  gentleman  who  is  going  down  hill  at  ^ 


LADY  RAMSBURY'S  GARDEN  PARTY.  63 

hand  gallop.  I don’t  like  young  gentlemen — their  talk 
bores  me,  and  they  don’t  like  me.  They  are  sure  not  to 
^ take  my  advice,  and  call  me  an  old  fogey,  I have  no  doubt, 
' when  my  back  is  turned.  However,  when  your  hopeful 
has  gone  a ‘ real  perisher  ’ I will  step  in,  if  you  wish  it. 
The  young  man  in  difficulties,  and  the  young  man  with  his 
quill  feathers  still  unplucked,  are  very  different  people  to 
deal  with.” 

Miss  Devereux  and  Gilbert  Slade  continued  to  improve 
their  acquaintance  during  the  best  part  of  the  afternoon. 
The  young  lady  had  not  a very  numerous  acquaintance 
present,  and  was  not  at  all  averse  to  having  this  good-looking 
Hussar  dangling  by  her  side.  Gilbert  thought  her,  as  he 
well  might,  a very  pretty  girl.  He  had  not  been  so  much 
struck  with  her  at  Lincoln,  but  now  she  was  arrayed  in  all 
her  summer  braveries  he  freely  acknowledged  her  beauty, 
and,  what  was  more  to  the  point,  her  lively  talk  amused 
him.  It  was  not  that  he  did  not  know  plenty  of  people, 
for  many  a fair  head  was  bent  in  salutation  to  him  as  he 
paced  the  grass  by  Lettie’s  side,  but  Gilbert  was  too 
pleased  with  his  present  companion  to  seek  for  change — in 
fact,  by  the  time  he  had  put  Mrs.  Connop  and  her  niece 
into  their  carriage  it  was  quite  arranged  that  he  should 
call  at  Onslow  Gardens  the  next  day. 

“ She  is  rather  a nice  girl,  that,”  mused  Mr.  Slade,  as  he 
paced  homewards  with  a vigilant  eye  for  a passing  hansom, 
“ besides,  after  the  way  in  which  her  mother  lunched  me  at 
Lincoln,  I am  bound  to  make  my  obeisance  to  the  young 
lady  and  her  aunt.  What  splendid  brown  eyes  she  has — 
and  what  a figure  for  a riding  habit ! ” 

I fancy  those  eyes  had  much  to  say  to  Gilbert’s  puncti- 
lious politeness,  for  had  Miss  Devereux  been  other  than  she 
was  he  would  not  so  clearly  recognised  the  necessity  of 
calling  in  Onslow  Gardens.  He  was  a young  man  apt  to 
be  a little  careless  of  such  social  obligations,  but  though 
very  far  from  impressionable,  he  had  always  a genuine 
admiration  for  a pretty  woman,  and  was  fond  of  women’s 
society.  He  differed  from  both  his  uncles  in  that  respect, 
who^  though  leading  very  different  lives,  were  alike  in  that 


SADDLE  AND  SABRR 


64 

one  thing — they  both  eschewed  the  society  of  the  fair  sex, 
except  upon  very  rare  occasions. 

Miss  Devereux,  as  she  drove  along,  looked  back  on  a 
very  pleasant  afternoon.  “ Charlie  must  be  a soldier,” 
she  thought,  “ I rather  like  soldiers.”  And  then  Lettie 
could  not  help  laughing  as  she  considered  how  very  limited 
her  military  acquaintance  was — Mr.  Slade,  and  two  or 
three  officers  vffiom  she  had  danced  with  at  Hunt  Balls — ^ 
and  had  no  recollection  of  being  particularly  impressed 
with  them  at  the  time.  She  was  conscious  herself  that  she 
was  basing  her  predilections  for  the  army  entirely  upon 
Gilbert  Slade,  whom,  after  all,  she  had  only  met  three 
times.  Major  Kynaston,  who  was  the  only  soldier  of  whom 
she  had  much  knowledge,  she  undoubtedly  had  but  little 
admiration  for,  but  then  she  decided  in  her  own  mind  that 
he  was  probably  an  unfavourable  specimen. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Connop  exclaimed,  with  some  abrupt- 
ness, “ When  did  you  hear  from  Charlie  last  ? ” 

“ Oh,  not  for  some  days.” 

Where  do  you  suppose  he  is  ? ” inquired  her  aunt. 

**  He  is  sure  to  be  at  Cambridge.” 

I don’t  think  he  is,  my  dear,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Connop. 
**  I forgot  to  tell  you,  but  when  I was  out  shopping  this 
morning,  Charlie  passed  me  in  a hansom  cab,  unless  I am 
very  much  mistaken.” 

“ Did  he  see  you,  auntie  ? 

“ No  ; of  that  I am  quite  sure.  It  is  very  odd  he  should 
be  in  town  and  not  come  out  to  see  me.” 

Miss  Devereux  made  no  reply.  It  was  not  very  likely 
that  her  aunt  was  mistaken,  and  she  knew  that  Mrs. 
Connop  much  resented  any  of  her  family  not  duly  present- 
ing themselves  in  Onslow  Gardens  on  such  occasions, 
while  Lettie  was  also  aware  that  young  gentlemen  at  the 
University  were  not  uncommonly  in  London  without  the 
knowledge  of  their  relations.  She  kept  her  misgivings 
carefully  to  herself,  but  from  a little  that  had  escaped 
Charlie  in  the  winter  she  felt  pretty  sure  that  there  were 
money  troubles  impending  over  his  head,  and  that  the 
f^tprm  was  likely  to  burst  at  any  moment? 


A LITTLE  GAME  AT  BILLIARDS. 


65 


IX.— A Littlb  Gaub  at  Billiards* 

IT  IS  a curious  thin^,  but  it  is  nevertheless  most  generally 
the  case,  that  when  a young  gentleman  gets  into  diffi- 
culties he  is  apt  to  bestow  his  confidence,  and  take  advice, 
in  all  probability,  from  the  very  last  man  he  should  select. 
To  go  to  the  home  authorities,  undoubtedly  the  best 
people  in  whom  to  confide  until  by  repetition  their  patience 
has  been  exhausted,  is  about  the  last  thing  that  occurs  to 
many  of  us  in  those  days  of  hot  youth  and  difficulties. 
Charlie  Devereux  had  g;ot  a bit  dipped  at  the  University, 
but  it  was  not  that  which  troubled  him ; he  could  have 
carried  such  debts  as  those  straight  to  his  father  without 
fear  of  his  reception.  He  might  be  called  “an  extravagant 
young  dog,”  and  there  might  be  a good  bit  of  grumbling 
over  it,  still  he  knew  they  would  be  paid.  But  Furzedon 
had  gradually  imbued  him  with  a taste  for  racing  and  the 
backing  of  horses  at  Newmarket.  Charlie  was  of  far  too 
impulsive  a disposition  ever  to  do  much  good  in  that  way. 
A man  may  be  a very  fine  horseman,  or  even  more,  he  may 
be  a very  fair  judge  of  racing,  and  yet  have  no  manner  of 
discretion  in  the  backing  of  horses.  Charlie  in  the  first 
place  had  been  indebted  to  Furzedon  for  the  means  with 
which  to  meet  his  liabilities,  but  as  he  got  intimate  with 
the  Kynastons  he  was,  like  many  another  young  man 
before  him,  very  much  impressed  by  the  Major’s  apparent 
knowledge  of  the  world. 

The  Major  always  did  impose  upon  young  men  in  this 
wise.  A man  who  really  does  believe  in  himself  is  very 
apt  to  imbue  his  fellows  with  like  belief,  and,  despite  many 
rude  shocks  that  should  have  shaken  his  opinion,  Kynaston 
still  prided  himself  upon  his  astuteness.  There  was  not  a 
“leg”  at  Newmarket  that  he  was  not  more  than  a match 
for  ; the  cleverest  adventurer  in  London  would  never  get 
the  best  of  him  at  either  the  billiard  or  the  card-table.  As 
for  the  Stock  Exchange,  they  knew  a thing  or  two  there, 
but  they  would  have  to  get  up  very  early  in  the  morning 
to  get  the  best  of  Dick  Kynaston. 

Dining  at  The  Firs  one  night  after  a capital  day’s  hunt- 


66 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


ing,  when  the  Major  had  suggested  that  just  a couple  of 
glasses  of  port  apiece  could  not  possibly  huit  them  after 
such  a glorious  gallop  in  the  open,  Charlie  had  made  a 
clean  breast  of  his  troubles  to  his  host.  The  latter  listened 
with  great  interest.  Young  men’s  difficulties  always  had 
an  interest  for  him.  His  knowledge  of  money-brokers  and 
bill-discounters  w^as  extensive,  and  nobody  understood  the 
rights  of  salvage  better  than  he  did.  He  delighted  in  being 
hailed  by  the  sinking  ship  when  the  skipper  was  young, 
and  too  thankful  for  his  help  to  dream  of  disputing  the 
price  of  his  redemption.  Very  pretty  pickings  to  be  had 
in  these  cases,  the  Major  knew.  Of  course  there  were 
others  who  must  be  permitted  to  share  in  the  spoils;  but 
the  Major  was  a jackal  of  mark,  and  by  no  means,  wdien 
the  picking  of  the  carcase  took  place,  to  be  put  off  with 
bare  bones. 

He  told  Charlie  that  he  had  no  doubt  he  could  help  him, 
but  he  would  take  a little  time  to  consider  of  it,  which, 
being  interpreted,  meant  that  Dick  Kynaston  intended 
leisurely  to  appraise  his  victim.  It  w^as  not,  remember, 
that  he  had  won  any  money  from  Charlie,  but  that  the 
latter  had  come  to  him  with  the  story  of  his  difficulties. 
When  the  Major  came  to  consider  the  speculation,  he 
considered  it  might  probably  turn  out  a profitable  one. 
To  begin  with,  the  Devereux  were  unmistakably  well-to-do 
people,  and  that,  therefore,  the  money  was  certain  to  be 
all  right  in  the  long  run — a thing  that  the  gentleman  to 
whom  he  meant  to  confide  the  relief  of  Charlie’s  necessities 
w^ould  be  doubtless  anxious  about.  Secondly,  he  thought 
there  was  nothing  more  probable  than  that  from  this,  as 
yet,  embryo  North  Leach  stable  might  spring  a dangerous 
steeplechaser  or  tw^o,  and  to  be  behind  the  scenes  in  such 
a case  might  be  the  means  of  putting  several  hundreds 
into  his  pocket.  Lastly,  like  Mr.  Furzedon,  Kynaston 
recognised  that  Charlie  had  the  makings  of  a real  horse- 
man— a little  green,  perhaps,  at  present,  but  only  wanting 
practice  to  develop  into  a first-class  gentleman  lider. 
Acting  on  all  this,  the  Major  had  enabled  Charlie  to  dis- 
charge his  debt  to  Furzedon  and  save  his  hunters,  but  it 
had  all  been  done  in  the  usual  way — bills  of  six  monthSi 


A LITTLE  GAME  AT  BILLIARDS.  67 

bearing  ruinous  interest,  which  Charlie  had  signed,  with 
the  Major’s  rollicking  assurance  ringing  in  his  ears,  of 
— “ Pooh,  my  dear  boy ! we  shall  have  one  or  two  more 
rolls  of  the  ball  before  these  come  due,  and  you’ll  probably 
win  a nice  little  stake  on  one  of  the  Spring  handicaps, 
which  will  enable  you  to  just  light  cigars  with  them.” 

There  are  pec^le  who  have  broken  the  bank  at  Homburg, 
and  I suppose  there  are  people  in  Charlie’s  circumstances 
who  have  won  enough  money  to  discharge  similar  liabili- 
ties, but  to  the  ordinary  run  of  humanity  such  a thing 
never  happens,  and  when  it  does  I,  in  the  superstition 
engendered  by  long  years  of  watching  the  battle  of  the 
gambler  with  fortune,  fear  every  gruesome  fate  for  him. 
One  I knew,  who,  after  steadily  plodding  through  years  of 
ill  luck  on  the  Turf  that  might  have  deterred  many  men 
from  continuing,  at  last  had  his  year.  He  was  no  heavy 
gambler,  but  how  much  he  won  between  the  First  New- 
market Spring  and  the  finish  of  the  Ascot  week  was  pre- 
posterous, considering  the  stakes  with  which  he  originally 
started.  That  he  had  followed  his  luck  there  is  no  need 
to  say,  and  had  bet  at  Ascot  in  a way  hitherto  unknown  to 
him ; but  it  benefited  him,  poor  fellow,  but  little,  for  ere 
the  next  twelve-month  was  over  he  was  laid  peacefully  in 
his  grave,  and  recked  little  of  what  went  on  on  that  Turf 
he  had  loved  so  dearly. 

But  those  bills  had  at  last  become  due,  while  that  nice 
little  stake  which  the  Major  had  so  jauntily  predicted  had 
not  as  yet  been  landed.  Kynaston  dropped  a line  to  his 
young  friend,  and  informed  him  that,  unless  he  saw  his 
way  to  meeting  them,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  he  should 
come  up  to  town  and  make  arrangements  for  their  renewal; 
and  this  it  was  that  had  brought  Charlie  Devereux  to 
London.  ^ Kynaston  determined  to  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  to  give  a little  dinner  to  Devereux  and  Furze- 
don.  The  latter  somewhat  puzzled  him.  He  was  con- 
scious that  Furzedon  was  a shrewdish  young  gentleman, 
though  he  would  naturally  have  derided  the  idea  of  any 
one  of  his  years  getting  the  better  of  Dick  Kynaston.  A 
thing  that  had  rather  puzzled  Furzedon  had  been  where 
Charlie  bad  pfoou^ed  the  money  to  settle  with  h^  ; but 


68 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


the  Major  had  cautioned  Devereux  to  keep  silence  respect- 
ing those  bill  transactions,  and,  as  Charlie  had  not  volun- 
teered any  information,  Furzedon  could  not,  of  course, 
press  him  on  the  subject.  Kynaston  was  not  given  to 
entertaining,  and,  like  one  of  his  guests,  usually  had  some 
object  in  view  when  he  did  extend  his  hospitality;  but  the 
tastes  of  young  men  who  had  either  money  or  well-to-do 
relatives  he  always  considered  were  worth  studying.  He 
had  gathered  up  in  the  Wolds  during  the  hunting-season 
that  Charles,  amongst  other  things,  was  a little  proud  of 
his  billiard-playing,  but  at  The  Firs,  and  upon  the  two  or 
three  occasions  that  he  had  dined  at  North  Leach,  there 
had  been  no  opportunity  of  testing  young  Devereux’s  skill 
in  that  particular. 

The  Major’s  oflf-hand  invitations  to  dine  with  him  at  the 
Thermopolium  were  both  accepted,  although  Furzedon 
pleaded,  in  consequence  of  another  engagement,  that  he 
should  have  to  run  away  soon  after  dinner  was  over. 
Major  Kynaston  could  be  a good  host  when  he  chose  to 
take  the  trouble,  and  the  trio,  after  a satisfactory  repast, 
lingered  for  some  time  over  their  wine.  At  last  Furzedon 
declared  he  must  go,  and  after  his  departure  Kynaston 
proposed  that  they  should  have  a game  of  billiards  with 
their  cigar.  Charlie  was  delighted  with  the  proposition, 
and,  having  adjourned  to  the  strangers’  billiard-room,  they 
commenced  their  game.  They  happened  to  have  the  room 
to  themselves,  and  at  first  seemed  evenly  matched,  but 
towards  the  middle  of  the  game  Charlie  began  to  draw 
away  from  his  opponent,  and  apparently  won  pretty  easily 
at  the  finish.  Kynaston  seemed  a little  nettled  at  this, 
proposed  another  game  of  a hundred  up,  and  offered  to 
bet  a crown  he  won  it.  He  certainly  made  a better  fight 
this  time,  but  Devereux  was  once  more  victorious ; still 
the  Major  declined  to  own  himself  defeated,  and  suggested 
another  game  for  the  same  nominal  stake.  Devereux 
assented,  and  even  offered  to  give  a few  points,  which  the 
Major  testily  declined.  This  time  the  scoring  ran  pretty 
even,  when  a stout  gentleman,  smoking  a very  large  cigar, 
lounged  into  the  room,  nodded  slightly  to  Kynaston,  and, 

bimseU  the  adjacent  benchi  proceeded  tQ  wateh 


A LITTLE  GAME  AT  BILLIARDS. 


69 


the  play.  The  arrival  of  the  new  comer  seemed  slightly 
to  disconcert  the  Major,  but  at  the  same  time,  it  seemed 
to  have  improved  his  play.  A somewhat  amused  expres- 
sion stole  over  the  looker-on’s  face ; and  when  Kynaston 
eventually  proved  the  conqueror  by  a few  points,  he  rose 
from  his  seat,  and,  as  he  sauntered  out  of  the  room, 
remarked, 

“ Hardly  up  to  your  usual  form,  Kynaston.” 

“Always  the  case,”  replied  that  gentleman,  “when  you 
drink  champagne  at  dinner  ; you  never  can  quite  tell  what 
the  effect  will  be.  You  either  play  below  your  game,  or  a 
good  many  points  above  it.” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  rejoined  Bob  Braddock,  for  it  was  he 
who  had  been  the  amused  spectator.  “ I don’t  know  who 
that  very  young  gentleman  is,”  he  muttered  to  himself  as 
he  left  the  room ; “ but  if  he  thinks  that  he  can  form  the 
slightest  idea  of  Dick  Kynaston ’s  game  of  billiards  from 
what  he  has  seen  to-night,  he  is  very  much  mistaken.  I 
don’t  suppose  he  has  any  conception  that  he  has  got  hold 
of  about  the  very  best  player  we  have  got  amongst  us,  and 
whom  I don’t  suppose  there  are  half-a-dozen  gentlemen 
players  in  London  can  tackle.” 

Major  Braddock  was  right ; although  Charlie  was  no 
fool,  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea,  so  well  was  it  done, 
that  Kynaston  was  concealing  his  game ; he  looked  upon 
him  as  much  such  a player  as  himself;  but  thought  that 
he  was  a little  the  best  of  the  two.  However,  they  played 
a couple  more  games  upon  even  terms,  and  whatever  Kyn- 
aston’s  object  might  have  been,  it  was  evident  he  had  no 
design  upon  Charlie  at  present ; for  in  one  of  these  games 
he  was  easily  beaten,  and  the  other  he  just  won  by  an  j 
apparent  fluke.  Nor  did  he  make  the  slightest  attempt 
to  induce  Charlie  to  bet  further  than  the  modest  stake  first 
proposed. 

Whether  Mr.  Furzedon,  if  he  had  remained  and  witnessed 
the  episode  of  the  billiard  playing,  would  have  been  much 
enlightened  about  his  host’s  character,  it  is  hard  to  say. 
Furzedon  was  very  shrewd,  no  doubt,  and  it  must  be  borne 
in  mind  a good  five  years  Devereux’s  senior ; but  it  is 
very  difficult,  indeed,  knowing  nothing  of  a good  billiard* 


70 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


player’s  game,  to  know  whether  he  is  doing  his  best , 
then,  again,  Furzedon  had  never  set  himself  to  study  Major 
Kynaston.  He  knew  that  he  was  a sporting  man,  much 
addicted  to  horseracing,  and  he  had  little  doubt  with  a 
taste  for  play ; but  he  had  never  troubled  his  head  to  take 
further  stock  of  him.  He  had  dined  with  Kynaston  at 
some  little  inconvenience,  simply  with  the  view  of  cement- 
ing the  acquaintance  commenced  at  North  Leach ; but  it 
was  to  Mrs.  Kynaston  he  looked  principally  to  helping  him 
in  the  main  ambition  of  his  life,  namely,  the  working  his 
way  into  London  society.  Mr.  Furzedon  had  a high  idea 
of  utilising  his  fellows  in  anywise ; but  it  had  not  so  far 
struck  him  that  the  Major  could  be  useful  to  him.  He 
had  not  yet  fathomed  the  vainglorious  weakness  of  Kynas- 
ton’s  nature.  The  Major  never  could  resist  vaunting  his 
triumphs  when  fortune  favoured  him,  either  on  the  baize 
or  on  the  grass. 

Young  Devereux  regained  his  quarters  with  all  the  com- 
placency of  a man  who  has  spent  a thoroughly  satisfactory 
evening.  He  had  had  an  excellent  dinner,  a good  tussle 
at  billiards  with  an  opponent  worthy  of  his  steel,  but  of 
whom  he  firmly  believed  he  had  legitimately  got  the  best, 
and,  crowning  mercy  of  all,  the  Major  had  told  him  those 
bills  would  be  comfortably  arranged  for  the  present.  It  is 
true  that  there  was  something  bitter  within  the  cup,  and, 
young  and  reckless  as  he  was,  even  Charlie  made  a wry 
face  at  the  price  he  was  told  he  would  have  to  pay  for  this 
further  accommodiMKon.  Only  he  had  a delicacy  about  it, 
he  had  far  better  have  taken  Furzedon  into  his  confidence. 
Even  if  that  gentleman  had  charged  him  interest  for  extend- 
ing his  loan,  it  would  have  been  something  bearing  a very 
mild  proportion  to  what  his  present  benefactors  required 
for  their  services.  As  Mrs.  Connop  rightly  surmised, 
Charlie  had  not  seen  her.  He  was  only  up  for  two  or 
three  days,  and  did  not  particularly  wish  his  relations  to 
know  of  his  presence  in  London,  more  especially  Lettie. 
He  was  very  fond  of  his  sister,  knew  that  her  suspicions 
were  already  slightly  aroused  about  the  state  of  his  affairs, 
and  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  submit  to  her  keen  question- 
ing, Nq/*  he  tboughtr  Lettie  always  could  worm  any. 


A LITTLE  GAME  AT  BILLIARDS. 


ft 

thing  out  of  me,  and  it’s  not  a bit  of  use  worr5ring  her  with 
this  scrape,  and  she  has  all  her  life  taken  my  troubles  a 
deuced  deal  more  hardly  than  I ever  did  myself.  ^ It  ia 
awkward,  and  if  I can't  win  a race  with  Pole  Star  in  the 
autumn  1 don’t  see  my  way  out  of  it.  But  Lettie’s  a real 
good  sort,  and  she  shan’t  be  bothered  with  my  troubles  so 
long  as  I can  help  it.” 

Miss  Devereux,  as  we  know,  was  already  anxious  about 
her  brother,  and  had  she  known  where  to  write  to  him 
would  have  communicated  with  him  at  once,  but  Charlie 
had  not  as  yet  attained  to  the  dignity  of  a club,  and 
though  when  in  London  he  always  encamped  in  the  vicin* 
ity  of  St.  James’s  Church,  the  precise  street  as  well  as 
number  of  the  house  were  always  uncertain.  Duke  Street, 
Ryder  Street,  Bury  Street,  Jermyn  Street,  etc.,  he  had 
lodged  in  them  all.  At  this  time  of  year  rooms  in  that 
locality  were  at  a premium,  and  Miss  Devereux  kne\y 
that  it  was  more  a case  of  getting  in  where  you  could  than 
where  you  chose.  The  only  person  she  could  think  of 
likely  to  know  Charlie’s  address  was  Mr.  Furzedon,  and 
that  gentleman,  whether  he  found  people  in  or  out,  was 
much  too  wary  not  to  leave  his  card  on  the  hall  table. 
Lettie  accordingly  dropped  a line  to  Mr.  Furzedon  at  the 
Parthian  Club,  asking  for  her  brother’s  address,  or,  should 
he  come  across  him  that  evening,  would  he  tell  him  to  call 
in  Onslow  Gardens. 

It  was  late  before  Kynaston  left  the  ThermopoHum  after 
his  billiard  tournament.  He  had  accompanied  Charlie 
down  stairs,  but  at  their  foot  encountered  an  old  chum 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  many  years,  had  consented  to 
turn  into  the  smoking-room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  have 
just  one  small  cigar  and  a chat  over  old  times.  Bidding 
Charlie  good  night,  he  did  this  “ ancient  mariner’s”  bid- 
ding, and  ah  me  I how  many  of  us  can  remember  the  dire 
headache  that  is  the  result  of  those  chats  about  old  times, 
how  that  small  cigar  and  niodest  liquor  accompaniment 
expands,  and  how  “ hearing  the  chimes  at  midnight  ” is  a 
lukewarm  jest  in  comparison  with  the  chimes  we  do  hear 
upon  such  occasion.  It  was  very  late  indeed  as  Kynaston 
prepared  to  emerge  from  the  wicket  of  the  Thermopolium. 


7a 


SADDLE  AND  SABR& 


The  bi;^  doors  had  been  long  since  closed,  and  only  that 
rabbit  like  portal  was  open  to  the  belated  members.  As 
the  night  porter  unlatched  it  for  him  he  handed  him  a 
mean  and  dirty-looking  note,  which,  after  one  glance  at 
the  superscription,  the  Major  thrust  carelessly  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket. 


O,  there’s  not  much  difficulty  about  it,  and  from  what 


you  tell  me.  Miss  Devereux,  I should  think  it  is 


the  very  profession  to  suit  your  brother.  There  is  an 
examination  to  pass,  of  course ; but  most  of  us  manage  to 
do  that  after  being  sharpened  up  by  a coach  for  a few 
months.” 

“Yes;  and  Charles  has  had  a University  education,” 
replied  the  young  lady, 

“ Ah  ! they  don’t  always  bring  much  book-learning  away 
from  that,”  rejoined  Gilbert  Slade  laughing ; “ but  they 
are  not  required  to  be  so  very  deeply  read  to  qualify  for 
the  service  as  yet.  If  your  brother  has  made  up  his  mind, 
he  ought  to  lose  no  time  about  it.  It’s  a pleasant  life 
enough.  The  one  drawback  about  it  is  that  it  is  not  a 
money-making  profession.” 

“ Well,  Mr.  Slade,  I shall  look  to  you  to  put  us  in  the 
way  of  making  Charlie  a soldier.” 

“ I am  atraid  they  won’t  pay  very  much  attention  to  the 
recommendation  of  a subaltern  of  Dragoons ; but  I might 
be  of  some  use  to  you  for  all  that,  Miss  Devereux.  My 
uncle,  familiarly  known  in  the  service  as  Bob  Braddock, 
He  was  christened  Henry,  but  a fellow  who  is  good  for 
anything  always  gets  re-christened  in  his  regiment.  He  is 
hand-and-glove  with  all  sorts  of  swells,  and  a nomination 
for  a commission  is  not  much  to  ask  for.” 

“Ah!  here  comes  Auntie!”  exclaimed  Miss  Devereux, 
as  her  quick  ear  detected  a hand  upon  the  door-handle. 
“ Not  a word  about  my  brother,”  she  added,  hurriedly,  in 
an  undertone ; **  he  is  a little  in  disgrace  just  now.” 


X. — In  Onslow  Gardens. 


IN  ONSLOW  GARDENS. 


73 


Mrs.  Connop  welcomed  Gilbert  cordially.  She  was 
fond  of  young  men,  and  always  did  her  best  to  make 
her  house  pleasant  to  them.  She  had  a critical  eye  for 
masculine  good  looks,  and  Gilbert’s  tall  muscular  figure 
and  dark,  resolute  face  were  of  the  type  she  most  admired. 
There  was  a touch  of  romance  about  Mrs.  Connop,  with 
which  only  those  who  knew  the  good-tempered,  vivacious 
lady  intimately  would  have  credited  her. 

Lettice  understood  her  aunt  thoroughly,  and  knew  that 
she  revelled  in  sentimental  poetry  ; and  that  her  eyes  would 
even  yet  moisten  over  the  perusal  of  a thrilling  love-story. 

“ You  have  kept  your  promise,  Mr.  Slade,”  said  Mrs. 
Connop,  as  she  shook  hands.  “ And  you  will  be  so  far 
rewarded  in  that  you  will  meet  another  of  your  sporting 
acquaintance  in  a quarter  of  an  hour  or  so.  I call  them 
so,”  she  continued,  laughing,  “ for  as  far  as  I can  make  out, 
you,  Lettie,  and  Mrs.  Kynaston  have  only  met  on  the 
racecourse.” 

“ Not  as  yet,”  replied  Slade  ; “ but  I trust  it  will  be 
different  in  future.  I’m  not  at  all  one  of  those  men  who 
spend  the  best  part  of  their  lives  in  the  pursuit  of  racing.” 
“ It  is  exciting,”  exclaimed  Lettie  ; “ remember  what  a 
fever  we  were  all  in  about  Charlie  and  Pole  Star  at  Lincoln.” 
“Exciting?  Yes,”  replied  Gilbert,  quietly,  “you  had 
special  cause  for  it  then.  Nobody  appreciates  and  enjoys 
a good  race  when  it  comes  in  my  way  more  than  I do  ; but 
it  is  not  to  me  what  it  is  to  my  Uncle  Norman,  for  instance — 
the  very  breath  of  his  nostrils.” 

“May  one  inquire,  Mr.  Slade,  what  are  your  tastes?” 
said  Mrs.  Connop. 

An  amused  smile  played  upon  Gilbert’s  mouth  as  he 
rejoined,  “ That  is  a question  that  can  be  answered  from 
so  many  different  points  of  view.  Professionally,  I should 
reply,  military  glory ; diplomatically,  that  they  are  those 
of  the  lady  I am  talking  to.  Honestly,  I should  say,  catholic 
in  the  extreme,  as  far  as  I know  myself.  I should  say  I 
have  a keen  appreciation  of  the  best  of  everything  there  is 
going,  whether  it  is  hunting,  shooting,  travelling,  sight- 
seeing, or  whether  it  takes  the  baser  form  of  mere  eating 
and  drinking.” 


74 


SADDLE  AND  SABRa 


**  Ah,  Mr.  Slade,”  rejoined  Lettie  laughing,  “ I have  ' 
some  remembrance  of  that  latter  characteristic.  I believe 
he  was  starving,  Auntie,  when  father  found  him  at  Lincoln.” 

“ Quite  true.  Miss  Devereux.  And  I can  never  be  suffi- 
ciently thankful  that  he  did  find  us.  Jocelyn  and  I were 
almost  capable  of  devouring  each  other.” 

A peal  on  the  knocker  here  heralded  the  arrival  of  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  and  in  another  minute  that  lady  had  glided  into 
the  room,  shaken  hands  affectionately  with  Lettie,  been 
presented  to  Mrs.  Connop,  and  exchanged  a cordial  greet- 
ing with  Gilbert  Slade. 

“ Glad  to  catch  you  at  last,  Lettie,  though  you’re  one 
of  the  latest  swaUows  that  ever  made  a season.  There’s 
nothing  new,  there  never  is^  you  know,  to  an  old  Londoner 
like  me  ; they  may  call  it  this,  they  may  call  it  that,  but  it 
is  always  the  old  show  dished  up  under  a new  name. 
However,  it’s  all  very  pleasant,  and  I am  enjoying  myself 
as  much  as  ever,  and  so  will  you.  I heard  by  the  purest 
accident  in  the  Park  this  morning  that  you  were  at  the 
Ramsbury’s  ‘ garden  ’ yesterday.  I don’t  know  them 
myself,  and  have  always  understood  they  do  the  thing 
prettily.” 

“ Yes,  indeed,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Connop.  “ I don’t  care 
where  it  is,  I think  there  are  very  few  garden  parties  given 
in  London  where  you  will  find  the  thing  better  done  than 
it  is  at  Chelsea  Gate.” 

‘‘  Did  you  happen  to  be  there,  Mr.  Slade  ?”  inquired 
Mrs.  Kynaston  carelessly. 

**  Yes,”  replied  Gilbert,  “ it  was  there  I discovered  Miss 
Devereux ; and  it  is  to  that  I owe  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
you  again.” 

‘‘  Very  nice  of  you  to  say  so,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston  ; 

“ and  I shall  only  be  too  glad,  as  will  my  husband,  if  you 
can  find  time  to  honour  us  with  a call  in  Curzon  Street. 
How  is  Charlie,  Lettie  ; has  he  done  with  Cambridge  yet  ?’ 

Miss  Devereux  was  slightly  discomposed  by  this  ques- 
tion. She  detected  a defiant  sniff  on  the  part  of  her  aunt 
at  once.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  Mrs.  Connop  was 
already  fuming  because  that  erratic  young  gentleman  had 
not  paid  his  devoirs  in  Onslow  Gardens.  She  had  particu* 


IN  ONSLOW  GAKuiiNS. 


75 


larly  requested  Gilbert  to  avoid  alluding  to  him,  and  now 
Kate  Kynaston  had  brought  his  name  prominently  forward. 

“ No,”  she  replied,  “ I have  not  heard  of  him  lately,  but 
I believe  he  is  still  at  Cambridge.” 

“ Do  you,  Lettie  ?”  said  Mrs.  Connop,  sharply.  “ I feel 
pretty  sure  that  he  is  at  the  present  moment  in  London.” 
“ You  can’t  be  sure,  Auntie,”  rejoined  Miss  Devereux  ; 
in  such  a city  as  this,  I should  think  your  double,  or  your 
treble,  for  the  matter  of  that,  might  be  about.  It  is  so  easy 
to  make  a mistake  of  that  kind.” 

“Ah!”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  some  languid  curi- 
osity, “you  think  Mr.  Devereux  is  in  town,  apparently, 
Mrs.  Connop?” 

“ I don’t  think  it — I know  he  is;  and  it’s  very  rude  of 
him  not  to  call.” 

“Now,  Mr.  Slade,”  cried  Lettie,  “I  appeal  to  you; 
don’t  you  think  it  is  very  possible  to  make  a mistake  in 
the  street,  and  fancy  you’ve  seen  a person  who  is  not 
within  miles  of  London  ? ” 

“ Certainly,”  rejoined  Gilbert ; “ as  a brother  officer  of 
mine  remarked  on  this  point,  ‘ Fellahs  are  so  confoundedly 
alike,  you  know,  there  is  no  knowing  them  apart ; if  they 
were  only  like  horses,  you  know,  dash  it  all,  you  couldn’t 
make  a mistake  about  ’em.’” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  inwardly  congratulated  herself  that  she 
had  been  reticent  of  speech.  It  was  in  perfectly  good 
faith  that  she  had  asked  if  he  had  done  with  Cambridge, 
as  she  knew  that  his  time  there  was  drawing  to  a close ; 
but  she  certainly  knew,  further,  that  he  had  dined  with 
her  husband  the  previous  night.  That  Charlie  should  be 
in  London  and  his  own  sister  not  know  of  it  puzzled  her 
a little ; but  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  not  the  woman  to  make 
mischief,  and  therefore  passed  Lettie’s  remark  over  in 
silence. 

“ Come  and  lunch  with  me  to-morrow,”  she  said,  “ all 
of  you;  and  if  your  brother’s  shadow  should  take  material 
form,  I shall  only  be  too  pleased,  Lettie,  if  you  will  bring 
him  with  you.  We  can  have  a real  good  talk  then,  and 
I shall  be  enabled  to  honestly  make  your  acquaintance, 
Mrs.  Connop.  This  afternoon  I have  half  a dozen  places 


SADDLE  AND  SABRa 


76 

to  go  to,  and  have  only  time  to  shake  hands  and  say  how 
very  pleased  I shall  be  to  see  you  again.*' 

Mrs.  Kynaston’s  invitation  was  gladly  accepted;  even 
Gilbert  Slade  thought  luncheon  with  the  sparkling,  bonny 
brunette  would  be  pleasant,  and,  as  before  said,  he  had  an 
epicurean  admiration  for  pretty  women — though  at  the 
present  moment  he  was  regarding  these  two  living,  breath- 
ing models  much  as  a man  might  regard  a couple  of  pic- 
tures— still,  they  were  pleasant  to  the  eye,  and  afforded 
him  that  gratification  that  arrives  to  all  of  us  from  the 
contemplation  of  the  beautiful.  They  were  a striking  con- 
trast, but  both  very  perfect  in  their  way.  Kate  Kynaston's 
ebon  locks,  flashing  dark  eyes  and  well-rounded  form  was 
a pretty  foil  to  the  lithe  figure,  dark  chestnut  tresses  and 
laughing  brown  eyes  of  her  friend. 

Mrs.  Kynaston  could  not  be  said  to  puzzle  her  head 
much,  but  she  did  wonder  a little  what  had  brought 
Charlie  Devereux  to  town  in  this  somewhat  mysterious 
way.  She  reflected,  also,  that  her  husband  was  not  the 
man  to  throw  dinners  away,  and  that  from  those  upon 
whom  he  bestowed  his  hospitality  he  was  not  so  much 
apt  to  expect,  but  to  feel  certain,  of  receiving  some  return. 
What  his  object  might  be  in  entertaining  Mr.  Devereux 
Kate  could  not  fathom ; and  she  was  still  further  be- 
wildered as  to  what  had  led  him  to  entertain  Mr.  Furzedon. 
About  the  latter  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  her  own  opinion  ; she 
might  be  somewhat  of  a Bohemian,  but  she  had  mingled 
too  much  with  the  best  people  not  to  know  good  form** 
when  she  saw  it,  and  her  instinct  told  her  that  Furzedon 
was  not  quite  a gentleman.  He  might  pass  as  such  with 
most  men,  but  a well-bred  woman  would  be  sure  to  detect 
the  base  ring  in  the  metal. 

Still,  that  was  no  business  of  hers.  The  Major,  as  a 
rule,  was  a good  husband  in  one  respect.  Considering  in 
how  many  others  he  failed  to  deserve  this  definition,  it  was 
well  that  he  should  have  something  to  the  credit  side  of 
the  ledger,  He  had  scores  of  dubious  acquaintances — men 
at  whom  society  was  wont  to  look  somewhat  askance, 
men  of  whom,  to  put  it  mildly,  there  were  divers  queer 
stories  afloat— but,  to  do  him  justice,  be  rarely  asked  these 


IN  ONSLOW  GARDENS. 


77 


across  his  own  threshold,  nor  was  Mrs.  Kynaston  ever 
thrust  into  the  slightest  acquaintance  with  them.  When 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  his  plans  that  such  should 
make  their  objectionable  appearance,  they  were  relegated 
strictly  to  the  Major’s  own  den,  and  his  wife  knew  no 
more  than  that  “somebody  on  business”  was  closeted 
with  him. 

How  very  often  invitations  are  either  given  or  accepted 
which,  on  reflection,  people  feel  to  have  been  a great  mis- 
take, and  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  luncheon  invitation  had  not 
long  left  her  lips  before  she  became  conscious  that  this 
vras  not  exactly  what  she  wanted.  There  was  no  disguise 
about  her  being  quite  willing  to  entertain  them  all,  but  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  she  did  not  want  to  enter- 
tain them  all  at  the  same  time,  that  to  have  a good  gossip 
with  Lettie  she  wanted  that  young  lady  all  to  herself! 
That  a tite-d-tete  with  Gilbert  Slade  would  be  no  doubt 
enjoyable,  but  would  rather  lose  its  flavour  with  Mrs. 
Connop  and  Miss  Devereux  being  there  to  assist  at  it. 
There  was  nothing  mean  about  Mrs.  Kynaston.  She  was 
free-handed  as  an  Arab  in  the  matter  of  hospitality;  her 
impromptu  “little  lunches”  were  usually  successes,  but  on 
this  occasion  she  felt  that  she  had  not  picked  her  guests 
with  her  usual  good  judgment.  However,  she  was  too 
much  a woman  of  the  world  to  be  disconcerted  for  a 
moment  about  a trifle  like  this.  To  recollect  a previous 
engagement,  which  must  necessitate  the  postponement  of 
their  contemplated  banquet,  was  easy,  and  it  was  with 
many  apologies  to  Mrs.  Connop  for  having  spoken  so  care- 
lessly that  Mrs.  Kynaston  took  her  departure.  “ It  was 
very  stupid  of  me,  but  really  in  the  season  no  one  should 
speak  without  looking  at  their  engagement-slate,  and  I 
really  had  quite  forgotten  all  about  that  water-party  at 
the  Fitzgerald’s.  I only  wish,  Lettie,  they  had  too,  but 
I’ve  promised  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  and,  as  she  has  about  the 
longest  and  bitterest  tongue  in  all  London,  I daren’t  offend 
her.  I don’t  know  what  crimes  might  not  be  laid  at  my 
door  should  I fail  to  put  in  an  appearance.  A line  to  the 
Thermopolium  will,  of  course,  always  find  you,  Mr.  vSlade, 
and  you  must  come  ^nd  see  me  before  you  wend  your  way 


78 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


northwards.  For  the  present,  good-bye  to  all  of  you.” 
And  then  Mrs.  Kynaston  took  her  departure. 

Gilbert  soon  followed  her  example,  and  had  hardly  left 
the  house  when  Mrs.  Connop  exclaimed,  with  a snap  that 
made  Lettie  start,  “ Now,  what  did  she  mean  by  that  ? ” 

“ Mean  I Who?  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Auntie  ? ** 
“ Mrs.  Kynaston ! Why  did  she  suddenly  withdraw 
her  invitation  to  lunch  ? Don’t  look  so  bewildered,  child,” 
continued  Mrs.  Connop,  merrily.  “ It  does  not  much 
matter,  but  I have  mixed  too  much  in  the  world  not  to 
know  that  to  say  one  thing  and  mean  another  is  by  no 
means  the  exclusive  privilege  of  politicians.  The  Fitz- 
geralds’ water  party  I Rubbish  ! Doubtful  whether  there 
are  any  Fitzgeralds;  bet  any  one  Mrs.  Kynaston  is  not 
going  to  them  to-morrow.  She’s  a very  glib  liar,  Lettie ; 
quite  good  enough  to  deceive  any  man,  and  most  women  ; 
but  I’m  a solicitor’s  widow,  my  dear,  and  exceptionally 
gifted  in  the  detection  of  false  speech.” 

‘‘  Absurd,  Auntie  ! You  are  too  suspicious.  Kate  is  as 
liberal  a soul  as  ever  lived,  and  little  likely  to  be  niggard 
of  her  wine  or  her  cutlets.” 

“ Nonsense!  It’s  not  that  I mean.  I have  never  seen 
Mrs.  Kynaston  before,  but  she  changed  her  mind  about 
having  us  to  lunch.  I feel  quite  sure  of  it.  It  is  of  no  con- 
sequence, but  I am  curious  about  ‘ the  why.’  ” 

“ You  are  prejudiced  against  Mrs.  Kynaston,”  said  Lettie. 
‘‘  No,  my  dear,  I am  not  ; but  it  is  no  us«  pretending  one 
does  not  take  fancies  or  aversions  at  first  sight.  Dogs, 
acting  up  to  the  lights  of  their  nature,  often  fight  in  real 
earnest  on  first  meeting.  Reason  tells  me  I know  nothing 
of  Mrs.  Kynaston.  Instinct  tells  me  to  mistrust  her.” 

“ Oh,  Auntie  1 She  is  one  of  my  greatest  friends,'’  cried 
Miss  Devereux. 

“ I trust  I am  wrong,  and  that  you  may  never  rue  it. 
She’s  a very  pretty,  pleasant,  lady-like  woman,  but  for  all 
that Well  I 

The  reason  why  I cannot  tell, 

I do  not  like  thee,  Doctor  Fell. 

Say  no  more,  child  ; but  I don't  take  to  Mrs.  Kynast0Hf 


A WAIF  ON  life’s  STREAM. 


79 


XI. — A Waif  on  Life’s  Stream. 

Let  Dick  Kynaston's  habitation  be  where  it  might,  one 
thing  was  always  an  imperative  necessity.  Most  men 
affect  more  or  less  to  have  a sanctum  of  their  own,  but  with 
Kynaston  it  was  a bona  fide  den,  into  which  even  the  house- 
maid was  jealously  admitted.  It  was  furnished  after  the 
Major’s  own  peculiar  fancy,  and  tobacco  and  the  Racing 
Calendar  were  predominant  features  in  its  arrangement. 
There  the  owner,  seated  at  his  writing-table,  cigar  in  mouth, 
would  pore  for  hours  over  volumes  of  the  great  Turf  Lexi- 
con, and  make  astounding  calculations  about  weights, 
distances,  and  the  varied  running  of  horses.  He  was  as 
great  a votary  of  racing  as  Norman  Slade  ; if  he  had  not 
studied  so  long  he  had  studied  it  quite  as  attentively  ; but 
there  was  this  great  difference  between  the  two  men  : 
whereas  the  one  loved  it  purely  as  a sport,  and  exulted  in 
seeing  a good  horse  win,  the  other  regarded  it  much  as  one 
might  the  tables  at  Monaco ; he  looked  upon  it  as  a mere 
means  of  gambling,  and  would  infinitely  sooner  have  seen 
the  good  horse  beaten  had  it  profited  him  more.  It  is 
curious  how  this  greed  for  money  so  constantly  is,  on  the 
Turf,  the  cause  of  its  pursuer’s  undoing.  Is  not  the  legend 
still  extant  of  that  luckless  bookmaker  who,  after  months 
of  infinite  patience  and  manipulation,  had  succeeded  in 
getting  his  horse  into  the  Chester  Cup  at  a weight  that 
made  it  a gift  to  him  ? Carefully  was  the  commission 
worked,  and  he  succeeded  in  plotting  a coup  that  should 
have  made  him  and  his  associates  rich  men  for  their  lives. 
In  a reckless  moment,  only  a few  days  before  the  event 
was  to  come  off,  in  his  anxiety  to  let  no  money  escape  him, 
he  laid  the  odds  to  lose  ten  thousand  pounds  against  a 
horse,  the  owner  of  which  had  no  intention  up  to  that  time 
of  sending  it  to  the  banks  of  the  Dee.  Strange  fatality  ! 
That  very  horse  upset  the  deep-laid  scheme  by  a neck,  and 
turned  the  well-nigh  mighty  triumph  into  bitter  defeat  and 
disaster. 

It  was  very  rarely  that  any  of  Dick  Kynaston’s  friends 
were  made  welcome  to  what  was  conventionally  called 


8o 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


the  study.”  Nor  was  it  exactly  the  room  in  which  a man 
would  elect  to  receive  any  one  but  an  extreme  intimate. 
In  Curzon  Street  this  sanctuary  was  simply  the  back  dining- 
room, and  after  the  books  and  cigar-boxes,  the  chief  charac- 
teristics were  a leathern  armchair  and  a large,  plain,  sub- 
stantial writing-table. 

The  Major  had  no  connection  whatever  with  literature, 
but  he  was  certainly  a man  with  very  extensive  corre- 
spondence. The  letters  he  received  and  the  replies  thereto 
were  generally  of  the  briefi^,  and  a great  many  of  them 
were  apparently  from  peof^  to  whom  the  handling  of  a 
pen  was  a strange  and  toilsome  labour.  Their  spelling, 
like  their  caligraphy,  was  of  a doubtful  order.  There  was 
much  uncertainty  apparently  amongst  them  as  to  the 
orthodox  way  of  spelling  “ Major,**  and  they  discovered 
more  varieties  on  that  point  than  one  would  think  so  simple 
a title  was  capable  of.  These  correspondents  not  uncom- 
monly followed  their  letters.  Quiet,  unassuming  people, 
as  a rule  ; whose  dress  might  prompt  a well-drilled  servitor 
to  keep  his  eye  on  the  umbrellas  in  the  hall,  but  who 
otherwise  were  unmistakably  business  visitors ; and  they 
vere  a strange  and  curious  lot,  these  jackals  of  the  Major’s. 

It  was  a sad  revelation  of  how  educated  men  who  have 
iunk  beneath  life’s  stormy  waters  are  driven  to  get  their 
living,  to  find  that  amongst  this  little  band  several  of  them 
were  men  well  educated,  and  who  once  held  a good  posi- 
tion ; ruined  mostly  by  their  own  mad  folly,  they  had 
descended  to  the  depths  of  racecourse  touts,  or  still  more 
often  had  become  the  tools  of  the  professional  usurers, 
who  in  former  days  had  helped  them  to  their  ruin.  The 
Major  himself,  very  indignant  though  he  would  have  been 
had  any  one  ventured  to  hint  so,  was  simply  one  of  these 
latter  in  a very  large  way  of  business.  If  he  had  burned 
his  fingers  considerably  he  had  not  come  to  utter  financial 
grief.  He  had  never  forfeited  membership  of  his  clubs,  he 
still  held  his  own  very  fairly  socially,  and  it  was  essential 
to  his  scheme  of  life  that  Mrs.  Kynaston  should  take  her 
place  in  the  world,  and  be  seen  where  that  world  of  some 
ten  thousand  people  do  please  to  congregate.  The  differ* 
euce  between  him  and  his  emph^is  is  obvious.  To  the 


A WAIF  ON  LIFE'S  STREAM. 


8i 


well-dressed  denizens  of  Clubland  the  spendthrift  of  family 
and  expectations  was  easily  accessible,  which,  of  course, 
he  was  not  to  those  more  ragged  of  his  bretlxren  long  since 
cast  out  from  the  gay  scenes  of  their  undoing.  What 
hardly  pressed  young  man  would  not  welcome  the  pros- 
perous gentleman  in  broadcloth  and  clean  linen,  who  sym,* 
pathised  with  his  embarrassments  over  a cigar,  and  wound 
up  by  saying,  “ Deuce  of  a mistake,  borrowing.  But, 
Lord!  what’s  the  use  of  preaching!  Young  blood  will 
run  its  course.  I never  argue  with  a man  who  must  have 
money,  unless  he  is  trying  to  demonstrate  the  possibility  ol 
having  it  out  of  me.  I’ll  give  you  a line  to  old  Moggs  if 
you  like.  He’ll  rob  you,  naturally — they  all  do.  It’s  their 
trade,  but  he’ll  let  you  have  it  as  cheap  as  any  man  in 
London.” 

Amongst  Dick  Kynaston’s  habitual  visitors  was  that 
luckless  individual  who  has  already  twice  flitted  across  the 
pages  of  this  narrative.  We  have  seen  him  righteously 
struck  to  the  earth  by  Furzedon  outside  the  night-house  in 
the  Haymarket.  Unjustifiable  though  the  provocation  was, 
as  this  story  will  show,  it  was  questionable  whether  the 
striker  had  any  right  to  deliver  it.  We  have  met  him 
again  as  a mere  racecourse  tout  at  Lincoln  Races,  speaking 
in  the  slang  vernacular  of  his  tribe,  and  yet  Prance  was  a 
man  of  good  education,  who  had  known  a much  better 
position,  and  who,  though  some  years  older  than  Ralph 
Furzedon,  had  been  tempted  by  that  precocious  young 
gentleman  to  his  undoing.  How  that  happened  will 
appear  later ; for  the  present  it  suffices  to  say  that  to  Dick 
Kynaston  he  is  a mere  purveyor  of  racing  intelligence, 
picked  up  it  is  impossible  to  say  how,  but  at  all  times  worth 
listening  to,  as  the  Major  has  discovered  from  experience. 
That  there  had  ever  been  the  slightest  connection  between 
Furzedon  and  Mr.  Prance  Kynaston  was  totall}^  unaware. 
Had  he  been  a spectator  of  that  scene  in  the  Haymarket 
no  one  would  have  been  keener  to  know  what  called  forth 
the  final  malediction  launched  against  Ralph  Furzedon,  and 
what  had  been  the  previous  relations  between  the  pair  to 
warrant  the  bitter  intensity  in  which  it  was  couched.  The 
ordinary  rough  who,  in  his  avocation  of  robbery,  gets 


82 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


knocked  down,  may  swear  a little,  but  takes  it  usually 
after  the  manner  of  his  betters,  as  a mishap  in  the  matter 
of  business,  but  as  we  know  the  casual  lookers-on  had  felt 
that  no  ordinary  discomfiture  in  a street  row  could  have 
brought  forth  the  animosity  concentrated  in  Mr.  Prance’s 
curse. 

It  is  the  morning  after  the  Major’s  little  dinner  at  the 
Thermopolium  that,  while  engaged  in  those  mystic  calcu- 
lations somewhat  akin  to  the  researches  of  the  old  alche- 
mists in  their  untiring,  though  unavailing,  endeavours  to 
transmute  baser  metals  into  gold,  the  Major  was  informed 
that  “ a person  ” wanted  to  see  him.  Like  the  old  alche- 
mists, Kynaston  had  discovered  that  much  more  human 
but  baser  secret  that  it  is  quite  possible  to  induce  the 
weaker  portion  of  humanity  to  part  with  their  small  store 
of  wealth  with  a view  to  increasing  it.  Now,  “ a person  to 
see  you  ” is  an  announcement  disturbing  to  a considerable 
portion  of  society  generally.  The  “ person  to  see  you  ” is 
apt  to  be  a very  undesirable  person  to  interview — apt  to 
either  want  money  in  some  form,  or  to  be  the  bearer  of  disa- 
greeable intelligence.  We  all  know  it  except  those  affluent 
past  redemption,  and  for  whom  some  special  paradise  of 
their  own  must  be  preserved,  or  those,  and  they  are  a very 
limited  number,  whose  record  is  so  entirely  blameless  that 
they  can  laugh  at  the  idea  of  the  limelight  filing  turned 
upon  it.  But  the  Major  was  used  to  this  curt  announce- 
ment. He  neither  dreaded  that  Miss  Minnever  had  called 
to  say  that  unless  she  had  one  hundred  on  Mrs.  Kynaston’s 
account  she  should  be  compelled  to  take  legal  proceedings  ; 
nor  had  he  any  fear  of  similar  threats  from  creditors  on 
his  own  account.  Dick  Kynaston  was  a business  man  in 
this  wise : whatever  he  might  have  done  once,  he  was  a 
pretty  rigidly  ready-money  man  now.  He  made  his  wife 
a fairly  liberal  allowance,  but  he  had  given  her  pretty 
sharply  to  understand  that  this  must  never  be  exceeded. 

Therefore  this  announcement  brought  no  misgivings  to 
his  mind. 

, Another  minute,  and  the  servant  had  ushered  into  his 
room  Mr.  Prance. 

Well/’  said  the  Major,  ‘‘  what  is  it  ? Sit  down,  and 


A WAIF  ON  LIFE'S  STREAM. 


83 


don’t  let  us  waste  any  time  about  it.  We  know  ore 
another  pretty  well  now.  If  you  merely  want  money,  say 
so.  You  know  I’m  usually  good  for  a trifle,  and  I will  tell 
you  at  once  what  I can  let  you  have.  If  you’ve  brought 
me  information,  you  know  very  well  that  you  can  trust  me 
to  pay  for  it,  if  I find  it  valuable.” 

“Well,  Major,”*  replied  Prance,  as  he  seated  himself  in 
a chair,  “ I’ve  brought  you  a bit  of  Turf  information  which, 
I think,  is  worth  your  taking  note  of.  I can’t  say  it’s  valu- 
able, probably  never  may  be.  You’re  a business  man,  and 
I don’t  expect  you’ll  ever  think  you  owe  me  anything  on 
that  account.  I believe  you  were  hunting  up  in  the  Wolds 
of  Lincolnshire  last  year.  Didn’t  you  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a Mr.  Devereux  ? We  both  saw  him  ride  at 
Lincoln,  and,  mind  you,  he  will  ride  some  day,  but  he’s 
got  to  practise  a bit  yet.  Now,  I’ve  heard  something 
about  that  young  gentleman.  He’s  got  into  trouble  a bit, 
and  from  the  little  that  I can  learn,  is  falling  into  about  the 
worst  hands  that  could  happen  to  any  young  man  starting 
in  life.” 

It  took  a good  deal  to  astonish  the  Major,  but  that 
Prance  should  be  aware  that  he  was  mixed  up  in  Charlie 
Devereux’s  aflairs  did  surprise  him.  He  hesitated  a little 
before  he  made  answer.  It  was  scarcely  likely  that  a man 
like  Prance  would  presume  to  come  and  tell  him  to  his  face 
that  he  was  no  fit  mentor  for  youth.  Prance,  with  a direct 
pecuniary  interest  in  keeping  on  good  terms  with  him,  was 
hardly  likely  to  commit  himself  in  this  fashion.  What 
did  he  mean  ? What  did  he  know  ? What  could  the 
fellow  be  driving  at  ? 

“ Yes,”  replied  the  Major,  slowly,  “ I know  Mr.  Charles 
Devereux  and  all  his  people,  but  I am  not  aware  that  he 
has  fallen  into  particularly  bad  hands.” 

“ Did  you  ever  come  across  a man  of  the  name  of 
Fur2:edon  ? ” said  Prance,  lowering  his  voice. 

“ I know  a gentleman  of  that  name,”  replied  Kynaston, 
as  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  assumed  a lounging  attitude 
against  the  mantlepiece. 

Gentleman  retorted  the  other  with  a bitter  sneer. 
You  may  call  him  that  if  you  like.  There’s  a good  many 


4 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


iravel  under  that  name  who,  if  it  means  anything  like 
straightforwardness  and  honesty,  have  little  right  to  it. 
From  the  little  Tve  seen,  but  more  from  what  Fve 
heard,  I believe  that  Furzedon  is  a great  friend  of  Mr. 
Devereux’s.” 

“ Mr.  Furzedon,  you  mean,”  observed  the  Major,  quietly. 

“ No,  sir,  I don’t,”  rejoined  Prance,  doggedly.  “ I’ll  call 
him  ‘ that  Furzedon.*  But  if  you’re  a friend  of  Mr.  Deve- 
reux’s  tell  him  to  take  care  of  himself,  for  that  he’s  inti- 
mate with  as  slippery  a young  scoundrel  as  ever  trod  the 
Heath  at  Newmarket.” 

“ Surely  Mr.  Furzedon  does  very  little  in  that  way  ? ** 

“ Look  here.  Major,”  said  his  visitor,  ‘‘  you  go  about  a 
good  deal,  and  are  supposed  to  have  cut  your  eye-teeth, 
just  judge  for  yourself.  Another  hint,  and  it’s  worth  a 
sovereign,  too.  I don’t  know  what  sort  of  a card-player 
you  are,  but  if  ever  you  take  a hand  with  Furzedon,  don’t 
be  too  sure  of  getting  the  best  of  it.” 

“ Ah,”  rejoined  the  Major,  I don’t  suppose  that  is  very 
likely  to  happen,  but  it  is  worth  a trifle  to  know  that  your 
antagonist  is  of  the  highest  class  when  you  sit  down. 
Now  you  recollect  what  I asked  you  to  find  out  if  possible. 
Have  you  succeeded  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  that  I can  quite  say  that,”  replied  Prance, 
diffidently,  “ and  I shall  have  to  write  to  you  again  on  the 
subject ; still,  as  far  as  I can  make  out,  they  have  got  no 
first-class  two-year-old  in  the  Northern  stables.” 

“ All  right,”  replied  the  Major,  as  he  handed  the  tout  a 
gratuity.  “ If  you  discover  one  later  on,  you  must  let  me 
know.  And  now,  good-bye,”  and  a curt  nod  of  dismissal 
indicated  to  Mr.  Prance  that  his  audience  was  terminated. 

“ Ah,”  said  the  Major  to  himself,  after  his  visitor  had  left 
the  room,  “ I was  somewhat  deceived  in  that  young  man. 
I did  not  think  him  a fool,  but  I had  no  idea  he  was  so  pre- 
cociously clever.  I must  study  him  a bit.  I wonder  how 
much  he  has  had  to  say  to  young  Devereux’s  losses  ? I 
shouldn’t  wonder  if  my  friend  Prance  knows  an  ugly  story 
or  two  about  him,  the  possession  of  which  would  render 
him  very  amenable  to  reason  if  he  and  I should  ever  happen 
to  differ.  And  it*s  a (quarrelsome  world/’  mused  the  Major^ 


BOB  BRADDOCK'S  CONDITIONS.  8§ 

and  men  lose  their  temper  as  often  as  they  do  their  money, 
and  sometimes,  sad  to  say,  both  simultaneously.*’  Mr. 
Prance’s  hint  was  quite  a revelation  to  the  Major.  He  had 
regarded  Furzedon  as  a quiet,  tolerably  well-mannered 
young  man,  not  at  all  likely  to  exhibit  speculative  tastes, 
but,  according  to  this  informant,  Mr.  Furzedon  was  an 
exceedingly  astute  young  man,  with  a decided  taste  for 
gambling  in  every  form.  Dick  Kynaston  had  been  brought 
up  too  much  amongst  “ the  right  people  ” not  to  detect  that 
there  was  a clash  of  Brummagem  about  Ralph  Furzedon. 
He  was  a very  good  imitation,  but  the  initiated  could  not 
fail  to  see  that  he  was  not  quite  genuine.  The  base  coin 
appears  good  money  to  the  eye,  but  it  won’t  ring,  it  jars 
upon  the  ear  when  put  to  that  test,  and  similarly  Furzedon, 
though  at  first  he  thoroughly  passed  muster,  when  you 
came  to  associate  with  him  jarred  a little  on  the  feelings. 
You  couldn’t  quite  indicate  the  flaw,  but  you  felt  intuitively 
that  he  was  not  quite  a gentleman. 

Suddenly  a thought  flashed  across  the  Major’s  mind.  A 
confederate  might  be  useful  in  many  of  the  transactions  in 
which  he  was  habitually  engaged,  especially  a confederate 
over  whom  he  had  a hold.  And  this,  he  thought,  through 
Prance  very  possible  in  the  case  of  Ralph  Furzedon. 
There  was  plenty  of  time  to  make  inquiries,  for  he  had  no 
particular  scheme  on  foot  at  the  present  moment  that 
required  a coadjutor.  The  Major  then  seated  himself  at 
his  writing  table,  and  made  some  brief  and  mysterious 
memoranda  in  his  betting  book,  without  which  volume, 
unless  perchance  it  had  been  in  his  bath,  Dick  Kynaston 
had  for  years  never  been  met  with. 


XII. — Bob  Braddock’s  Conditions. 

I’;n  to  be  civil  to  Mr.  Furzedon,  am  I ?”  mused 
^ Mrs.  Kynaston,  as  she  sat  in  her  pretty  drawing- 
room the  day  after  her  meeting  with  Miss  Devereux.  “ Now 
1 wonder  what  that  means.  Dick  never  gives  me  those 


86 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


instructions  without  a reason.  I don’t  particularly  fancy 
Mr.  Furzedon  myself ; I wonder  what  Lettie  thinks  of  him. 
She  had  ample  opportunity  of  studying  him  during  the 
month  he  was  at  North  Leach  ; however,  as  she  is  coming 
to  lunch  here,  I shall  have  an  opportunity  of  ascertaining.” 
Miss  Devereux  was  true  to  her  appointment,  and  the 
two  ladies  sat  down  to  their  meal  tite-d4He.  After  gossip- 
ing gaily  over  various  subjects,  Lettie  asked  her  friend 
whether  she  thought  there  was  any  chance  of  their  taking 
The  Firs  again  next  winter. 

“ I am  sure  I can’t  say,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston.  “ You 
see  men  like  my  husband  now  and  then  don’t  hunt  at  all. 
Dick  will  race,  and  there  are  bad  years  as  well  as  good 
ones  at  that  amusement ; and  then  we  can’t  afford  horses. 
The  Firs  is  a cheap  place,  but  I don’t  think  Dick  quite 
liked  it.  He  prefers  a more  thickly  populated  neighbour- 
hood. By  the  way,  have  you  seen  anything  of  that  Mr. 
Furzedon  who  was  staying  with  you  last  winter  ?” 

“ Oh,  yes  ; he  called  the  other  day.  He  has  quite  done 
with  Cambridge,  you  know,  now,  and  is  settled  in  London.” 
“ Yes,”  replied  Kate,  “ I have  an  idea  he  is  trying  hard 
to  push  his  way  into  London  society.  What  did  you  think 
of  him,  Lettie  ?” 

“ He  made  himself  very  pleasant  while  he  was  with  us — 
was  very  good-natured,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  himself.” 

“ All  of  which,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  laughing, 
“ does  not  give  me  the  slightest  insight  into  what  you  think 
of  him.  Do  you  consider  him  quite  good  form  ? Is  he  of 
the  same  stamp  as  Mr.  Slade,  for  instance  ?” 

“No,”  rejoined  Miss  Devereux,  quickly;  “but  he  is  a 
soldier,  and  there  is  something  different  about  soldiers, 
you  know.  I am  so  anxious  that  Charlie  should  become 
one.  He  is  much  too  fend  of  hunting  to  become  a clergy- 
man, and  I’m  sure  he  would  never  do  any  good  as  a 
barrister,  and  he  must  be  something.” 

“ Quite  so,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  mock  gravity; 
“men  must  be  something,  if  it  is  only  to  keep  them  out  of 
mischief,  and  they  don’t  always  do  that.  Charlie  would 
make  a very  dashing  Hussar  ; and  I ought  to  be  a judge, 
for  I knew  the  ringing  of  bits  and  bridles  well  in  my  eaijiy 


BOB  BRADDOCK*S  CONDITIONS. 


87 

Harried  days.  Dick  didn’t  sell  out  for  a couple  of  years 
after  we  married.  Mr.  Slade  is  good-looking,”  she  con- 
tinued, after  a momentary  pause.  “ Don’t  you  think  so  ?” 
“ Yes,”  rejoined  Lettie  ; “ it  is  one  of  those  dark,  hand- 
some faces  we  are  all  apt  to  go  wild  about.” 

“ He  can  be  very  agreeable,  too,  when  he  likes.  I hope 
you  found  him  so  the  other  day  at  Lady  Ramsbury’s.” 

“ Very  much  so,”  replied  Miss  Devereux.  “ I am  glad 
to  say  that  there  is  a chance  of  your  seeing  a little  of  him 
next  winter.” 

“ How  so  ?”  inquired  Mrs.  Kynaston, 

“ His  regiment  has  been  moved  up  to  York,  and  the 
Dragoons  from  there  often  come  down  to  our  county 
balls  ; besides,  he  has  declared  that  he  will  come  down  and 
see  Pole  Star  run  at  Lincoln  in  the  autumn.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  cast  one  quick  look  at  her  companion, 
and  wondered  how  far  she  and  Mr.  Slade  were  interested 
in  each  other.  Kate  Kynaston  felt  almost  inclined  to  resent 
this  idea.  She  had  commenced  a slight  flirtation  with 
Gilbert  at  Lincoln  ; and  when  Mrs.  Kynaston  did  that,  she 
was  wont  to  regard  a man  as  her  own  peculiar  property, 
and  looked  for  unswerving  allegiance  on  his  part.  Like 
many  women  of  her  type,  she  was  very  good-tempered  and 
pleasant  till  you  happened  to  interfere  with  any  of  her 
schenies  or  caprices  : and  then  one  who  should  have  known 
her  well — for  had  he  not  been  in  the  toils  ? — said, 

‘‘  You  may  look  out  for  squalls;  you’ve  got  one  of  the 
cleverest  women  in  England  against  you,  and  it’s  long  odds 
she  carries  her  point,  more  especially  if  she  is  playing 
against  a man.” 

Gilbert  Slade  is  lounging  in  the  smoking-room  of  the 
Thermopolium  with  a view  to,  if  possible,  catching  hold  of 
Major  Braddock.  He  had  promised  to  consult  his  uncle 
as  to  whether  he  could  assist  young  Devereux  to  a nomi- 
nation for  the  army,  a fact  which,  when  it  came  to  Mrs. 
Kynaston’s  ears,  disconcerted  that  lady  not  a little.  She 
argued  that  when  men  exert  themselves  to  assist  young 
ladies’  brothers,  they,  at  all  events,  have  considerable 
admiration  for  the  young  lady  herself ; and  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
upon  very  insufficient  grounds,  considered  that  Gilbert  had 


8S 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


no  business  just  at  present  to  admire  anybody  but  herself. 
She  need  not  have  perturbed  herself^  that  insouciant 
Hussar  thought  of  his  two  recent  acquaintances  only  as  a 
couple  of  pretty,  agreeable  women  ; but  he  certainly  did 
go  this  length,  that  of  the  two  he  preferred  Miss  Devereux. 
No  very  great  preference,  perhaps,  but  still  such  it  was  as 
far  as  it  went.  It  would  have  angered  both  ladies  to  know 
that  what  occupied  his  mind  at  the  present  moment  much 
more  than  their  fair  selves  was  the  nuisance  of  having  to 
go  back  to  York.  York  was  all  very  well  when  you  came 
to  the  grouse  time,  the  races,  and  the  hunting;  but  York 
during  the  London  season  was  unendurable.  He  loathed 
the  loud  blare  of  the  barrack-yard ; he  knew  how  hot  and 
dusty  Cony  Street  would  be,  everybody  would  be  away, 
and  an  evening  country  ride  without  any  object  was  not 
much  for  a man  to  look  forward  to.  “No  wonder,'*  he 
muttered,  “ we  soldiers  drink  a good  deal  of  claret,  and 
rather  stiffen  our  joints  at  whist  in  these  dull  country 
quarters.  What  a deuce  of  a bore  it  is  having  to  go  back.” 

When  his  uncle  entered  the  smoking-\oom  he  at  once 
confided  his  grievances  to  him  ; but  that  veteran  simply 

“ D d his  impudence,”  and  called  him  a discontented 

young  dog.  “ By  Jove,  sir,**  he  said,  “ it  would  do  you  a 
lot  of  good  to  get  a good  rattling  Irish  out-station.  I had 
one  once  myself.  My  troop  was  detached  from  Dundalk  ; 
there  wasn’t  a soul  to  speak  to,  and  as  for  dining,  I didn’t 
do  such  a thing  for  four  months and  the  Major  quite 
shuddered  at  the  hardships  he  had  undergone  upon  that 
occasion. 

“ It’s  a wonder  you  ever  pulled  through,”  said  Gilbert, 
laughing. 

“ I don’t  know  that  I should  have  done  so,”  replied  his 
uncle,  twinkling  his  eye,  “ if  I hadn’t  made  friends  with 
the  priest.  He  had  some  marvellous  whiskey,  and  was 
the  only  man  I ever  met  who  could  really  brew  whiskey 
punch.  By  Jove,  sir,  I lived  upon  it.  He  taught  me  to 
play  spoiled  five,  and  I’d  just  get  through  the  evening  that 
way  till  the  cards  began  to  get  hazy,  and  I felt  it  was  time 
to  go  home.  It’s  a beautiful  game,  spoiled  five ; but  his 
reverence  used  to  take  the  sixpences  out  of  me  amazingly, 


BOB  BRADDOCKS  CONDITIONS. 


and  I dare  say  he  played  a better  game ; but  I know  he 
had  a better  head  for  punch.” 

“ You  think  he  rather  rooked  you,  then,”  said  Gilbert. 

Pooh,  nonsense  ! we  played  for  merely  nominal  stakes; 
but  Father  O’Shea  was  a keen  card-player,  and,  like  Mrs. 
Battle,  loved  the  rigour  of  the  game.  I was  generally 
foggy  towards  the  end  of  the  proceedings.” 

“ I say,  uncle,”  said  Gilbert,  quietly,  you’ve  lots  of 
interest,  you  know,  at  the  Horse  Guards ; do  you  think 
you  could  get  a nomination  for  a commission  for  a young 
fellow  in  whom  I am  interested  ? ” 

“ Young  fellow  in  whom  you  are  interested ; friend  of 
yours,  I presume?” 

“Well,  I can’t  exactly  say  that,”  rejoined  Slade;  “for 
the  fact  is  I barely  know  him.” 

“ Then  what  the  deuce  do  you  mean,”  rejoined  the 
Major;  “you  can’t  expect  me  to  go  bothering  at  the  Horse 
Guards  to  a?k  favours  for  your  slight  acquaintances.” 
“Well,”  rejoined  the  Hussar,  coolly,  “his  sister  is  a 
deuced  nice  girl,  and  I’ve  promised  to  do  what  I can  to 
help  her  in  this  matter.” 

Major  Braddock’s  sole  reply  was  a low  chuckle  and  an 
expressive  wink.  The  suspicion  of  a sentimental  affair 
was  apt  to  arouse  the  mirth  of  that  bon  vivant^  who  be- 
lieved in  nothing  but  sensual  gratification. 

“ I say,  Bertie,  my  boy,  spoons  at  your  time  of  life  is 
only  natural.  You  will  find  out  the  vanity  of  it  before 
you’re  much  older.  Only,  as  far  as  my  authority  goes, 
and  remember  you’ll  have  a good  bit  of  my  dollars  when 
I go,  I bar  matrimony  before  you’ve  got  your  troop.  If 
you  don’t  think  you’re  better  as  a bachelor,  then  please 
yourself.  I’ve  nothing  more  to  say  against  it.” 

“ Your  warning  is  quite  uncalled  for,”  rejoined  Gilbert 
Slade.  “ One  may  like  and  admire  a girl  without  the 
slightest  thought  of  marrying  her.  Besides,  I am  quite  of 
your  opinion.  It  ought  to  be  made  illegal  for  subalterns 
to  marry.  But  will  you  help  me  in  this  matter  ?” 

“ I can’t  say.  You  admit  you  know  nothing  about  this 
young  fellow.  I’ve  no  doubt  his  sister  is  a nice,  ladylike 
gill.  You  are  not  likely  to  make  a mistake  about  that. 


90 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


But  the  prettiest  and  nicest  of  them  are  sometimes  cursed 
with  the  most  objectionable  brothers.” 

“ I can  assure  you  young  Devereux  will  pass  muster.” 
Not  a bit  of  use,  Master  Bertie.  I am  not  begging 
till  I have  seen  him.  I’ve  too  great  a regard  for  Her 
Majesty’s  service  to  inflict  upon  any  regiment  a youngster 
whom  his  brother  officers  might  feel  ought  never  to  have 
been  amongst  them.  Let  me  see  him,  and  then,  if  I con- 
scientiously can.  I’ll  do  my  best  for  him.” 

“ I am  afraid  there  will  be  some  little  difficulty  about 
that,”  said  Bertie,  meditatively. 

“ I can’t  help  it,”  replied  the  Major,  testily.  “ I have 
told  you  I won’t  backra  dark  horse.  You  surely  can’t  be 

afraid  to  show  him,  because  that’s  enough  to  d him 

at  once.” 

‘‘Nonsense,  Uncle  Robert;  it’s  not  that.  The  slight 
difficulty  is  this : that  he  is  at  the  present  moment  at 
Cambridge,  and  I don’t  know  whether  he  can  get  away; 
while  at  the  same  time  my  leave  is  running  out,  and  I 
must  return  to  York.  Of  course,  I can  say  nothing  until 
I have  seen  Miss  Devereux ; but  I don’t  quite  see  my  way 
into  bringing  you  together  before  the  end  of  the  season. 
And  when  I’m  in  town  in  the  winter  you  are  as  likely  as 
not  to  be  staying  at  some  country  house  or  another.” 

“ Can’t  be  helped,  Bertie,”  returned  the  Major,  doggedly, 
“ as  I said  before.  I’ll  see  him  before  I back  him.  How  it 
is  to  be  managed  is  your  business ; but  if  you  ask  us  to 
meet  at  dinner,  for  goodness’  sake,  my  dear  boy,  let  me  run 
my  eye  over  the  menu.  Boys  of  your  age  never  under- 
stand eating. 

Man  may  live  without  love — what  is  passion  but  pining  ? 

But  where  is  the  man  that  can  live  without  dining  ? 

There  was  no  more  poetry  in  the  Major  than  in  an 
oyster,  and  I question  much  whether  he  knew  anything 
about  “ Owen  Meredith’s  ” poem  as  a whole,  but  that  one 
passage  he  certainly  had  by  heart — he  thoroughly  endorsed 
every  line  of  it,  and  was  rather  given  to  quoting  it. 

Gilbert  felt  there  was  no  more  to  be  said.  His  uncle 
had  delivered  his  ultimatum,  and  the  bringing  of  Charlie 


BOB  BRADDOCK'S  CONDITIONS. 


91 


and  Major  Braddock  together  he  felt  could  only  be  com- 
passed after  consultation  with  Miss  Devereux.  He  nodded 
to  his  uncle  as  the  latter  left  the  room,  and  continued  to 
smoke  on  in  silent  meditation.  He  had,  at  all  events, 
successfully  accomplished  the  first  step.  He  had  no  fear 
but  what  Charlie  Devereux  would  pass  muster  with  the 
Major,  and  the  veteran  had  given  his  word  to  interest  him- 
self in  his  behalf  should  that  be  the  case. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  days  of  which  I am 
writing  were  before  the  time  of  competition,  when  a nomi- 
nation for  a regiment  held  good,  providing  you  passed  a 
certain  specified  examination,  a more  practical  test  to  my 
mind  than  the  present  system,  which  is  calculated  to  fur- 
nish the  army  with  excellent  linguists  and  arithmeticians, 
but  not  quite  the  best  stuff  from  which  soldiers  are  made. 
I am  afraid  this  higher  knowledge  is  of  little  account  in 
the  field,  however  telling  it  may  be  in  the  class-room. 
There  was  a hero  who  won  the  V.C.  scarce  a decade  ago, 
whom  rumour  declared  had  been  twice  “ plucked  in  one 
of  the  ceaseless  examinations  that  now  dog  the  steps  of 
the  unfortunate  British  officer,  but  he  had  great  determina- 
tion, quickness,  and  grit,  which  served  him  in  better  stead 
that  day  than  science  or  tactics. 

The  one  thing  quite  clear  to  Gilbert  Slade  is  that  he 
must  see  Miss  Devereux  without  loss  of  time,  and  accord- 
ingly, as  soon  as  it  became  near  the  canonical  hour  for 
calling,  he  wended  his  way  towards  Onslow  Gardens.  He 
arrived  there  somewhat  early,  but  he  did  this  with  inten- 
tion, as  he  honestly  wanted  to  get  in.  To  his  enquiry  as 
to  whether  Mrs.  Connop  was  at  home,  he  received  an 
answer  in  the  affirmative,  and  was  duly  ushered  up  stairs. 
To  his  dismay  he  found  that  estimable  lady  alone,  and 
after  the  warning  he  had  received  the  other  day  from  Miss 
Devereux,  he  knew  that  it  would  be  imprudent  to  ask  her 
for  her  nephew’s  address.  However,  there  could  be  no 
harm  in  asking  after  Lettie,  and  his  mind  was  considerably 
lightened  when  he  ascertained  that  that  young  lady 
was  not  only  in,  but  would  probably  be  down  in  a few 
minutes. 

She  ii  just  putting  on  her  bonnet,  Mr.  Slade,  as  we  are 


SADDLE  AND  SAfiRfi. 


§2 

going  over  to  Lady  Ramsbury’s  for  a cup  of  tea,  and 
intend  to  have  a turn  in  the  Park  afterwards.** 

A few  minutes*  lively  conversation,  for  Mrs.  Connop  was 
by  no  means  one  of  those  women  whom  talking  to  becomes 
painful  and  wearisome  labour,  and  then  Lettie  entered  the 
room,  looking,  as  Slade  thought,  handsomer  than  he  had 
ever  seen  her  yet.  She  greeted  Gilbert  with  much  cordi- 
ality, and  then,  to  Slade's  great  relief,  Mrs.  Connop  got  up, 
and  said,  laughingly : 

“ I must  leave  you  to  take  care  of  Mr.  Slade,  Lettie.  I 
am  sure  you  will  excuse  me  for  a few  minutes,**  she  added, 
turning  to  Gilbert,  but  I also  must  array  myself  for  our 
drive.*’  * 

“ I wanted  much  to  see  you  alone  for  a few  minutes. 
Miss  Devereux,”  said  Gilbert,  as  the  door  closed.  “I  have 
lost  no  time  in  seeing  if  I could  be  of  any  assistance  to 
your  brother  in  obtaining  a commission.  Now,  my  uncle, 
popularly  known  as  ‘ Jolly  Bob  Braddock,’  can,  as  I told 
you,  help  him  if  he  chooses,  and  he  has  promised  he  will  if 
he  likes  him.” 

“ Likes  him  I ” repeated  Lettie.  But  that  is  rather  a 
doubtful  thing.** 

“You  don’t  know  the  Major,  and  therefore  you  can’t 
quite  understand.  He  is  straight  as  a die,  but  he  won't 
exert  his  influence  to  procure  a commission  for  any  young 
fellow  whom  he  does  not  consider  pleasant  and  a gentle- 
man— in  short,  he  insists  upon  seeing  him.** 

“ Oh  dear  I **  exclaimed  Lettie  with  a comic  expression 
of  despair,  “ this  is  terrible.  It*s  worse  than  going  in  for 
his  ‘ smalls.*  ** 

“ Nothing  of  the  kind,**  replied  Gilbert.  “There  will  be 
no  trouble  about  it  if  I can  only  get  hold  of  your  brother 
at  once,  and  induce  him  to  meet  my  uncle  at  the  Thermo- 
polium.  As  long  as  his  dinner  is  all  right — and  as  we  have 
agreed  that  he  is  to  have  the  ordering  of  it,  it  will  be  hard 
lines  if  it  isn*t — Charlie  will  pass  muster  triumphantly,  and, 
I hope,  spend  a pleasant  evening.  But,  you  see,  my  time 
in  London  is  limited,  and  the  question  is,  Can  he  get  away 
from  Cambridge  ? ** 

“ He  is  away,  Mr.  Slade ; I believe  him  to  be  in  London 


SEEKING  A COMMISSION. 


93 


at  this  minute,  though  I don’t  Jcnow  his  address  ; but  I 
think  it  very  possible  I may  in  the  course  of  the  day.  I 
have  written  to  a great  friend  of  his,  who  is  pretty  certain 
to  know  where  he  is  staying,  and  I will  let  you  know  the 
moment  I hear.  He  is  very  keen  upon  this  army  idea,  and, 
I am  sure,  would  make  a great  effort  in  answer  to  your 
kindness,  and  it  really  is  very,  very  kind  of  you,  Mr,  Slade, 
to  have  taken  so  much  trouble  for  people  of  whom  you 
know  so  little  as  you  do  of  us.” 

**  That  is  a fault  to  be  amended,  Miss  Devereux,”  rejoined 
Gilbert.  “ You  cast  your  bread  upon  the  waters  that  bitter 
afternoon  at  Lincoln,  and  won  undying  gratitude  from  a 
half-famished  man.” 

“ It  is  very  good  of  you  to  make  so  little  of  the  service 
you  are  rendering  us.”  And  as  Lettie  spoke,  the  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Connop  sailed  into  the  room. 

Gilbert  felt  that  his  mission  was  accomplished,  and 
though  he  would  willingly  have  prolonged  the  tete-d-tete^ 
there  was  nothing  left  him  now  but  to  put  the  ladies  into 
their  carriage  and  take  his  departure. 


XIII. — Seeking  a Commission. 

Mr.  FURZEDON  was  a little  puzzled  on  the  receipt 
of  Miss  Devereux’s  note.  There  was  no  difficulty 
about  giving  Charlie’s  address,  but  it  was  just  possible  that 
young  gentleman,  for  the  day  or  two  he  was  in  town,  might 
not  care  about  seeing  his  relations.  What  had  brought 
him  up  Furzedon  did  not  know;  he  had  no  opportunity  of 
private  conversation  with  him  at  Dick  Kynaston’s  dinner, 
but  he  did  know  that  unless  the  University  had  intimated 
that  they  could  dispense  with  Mr.  Devereux’s  presence  for 
some  time,  or  even  altogether,  that  his  stay  in  London 
must  be  very  short.  However,  after  a few  minutes*  con- 
sideration, it  was  obvious  to  him  that  the  best  thing  to  do 
would  be  to  consult  Charlie  himself  on  that  point.  That 
young  gentleman,  as  soon  as  he  had  read  the  note, 


94 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


observed,  “All  right,  I didn’t  mean  going  to  Onslow  Gar- 
dens, but  Lettie  is  a clear-headed  girl,  and  wouldn’t  par- 
ticularly want  to  see  me  unless  she  had  a good  reason  for 
it.  I had  no  idea  my  respected  aunt  knew  I was  in  town, 
or  else  I should  have  gone  up  there  yesterday.  Mrs.  Con- 
nop  has  a great  idea  as  to  what  is  due  to  her,  from  her 
nephews  and  nieces,  and,  as  she  is  a regular  trump,  I 
wouldn’t  offend  her  for  the  world.” 

“You’d  be  a precious  fool  if  you  did,”  rejoined  Furze- 
don.  “ She’s  good,  no  doubt,  for  many  years  to  come, 
but  she  has  money  to  leave  behind  her  whenever  she  makes 
an  end  of  it.” 

“ I wasn’t  thinking  of  that,”  rejoined  Charlie,  curtly.  “ 1 
only  remembered  she  was  always  a jolly  kind  aunt  to  me 
from  my  school-boy  days,  when  she  used  to  take  me  to  the 
pantomime,  till  last  winter,  when  she  gave  me  a cheque 
for  50/.  to  buy  another  hunter  with.” 

“I  see,”  replied  Furzedon,  “one  of  those  beneficent  god- 
mamas  that  only  exist  in  fairy  tales.  This  is  the  first  I 
ever  heard  of  in  real  life.” 

“ Perhaps  not.  I fancy  Aunt  Connop  is  a sort  you  don’t 
often  come  across.” 

“ Well,  good  morning,”  rejoined  Furzedon.  “ I shall 
write  a line  to  Miss  Devereux  to  say  that  you’ll  be  in 
Onslow  Gardens  this  afternoon.  An  independent  aunt 
who  is  lavish  of  cheques  for  fifty  is  a relative  to  cling  to, 
take  my  word  for  it.” 

Charlie’s  appearance  in  Onslow  Gardens  that  afternoon  * 
speedily  made  his  peace  with  Mrs.  Connop.  With  that 
lady,  indeed,  he  was  an  especial  favourite.  She  liked  him 
better  considerably  than  his  steady-going  brother,  and, 
though  very  fond  of  Lettie,  perhaps  cared  more  about  the 
scapegrace  of  the  family  than  her  niece.  Charlie  had 
never  done  anything  very  terrible,  but  he  had  a knack — 
some  men  have — of  being  incessantly  in  scrapes.  He  had 
never  come  actually  to  grief,  but  from  his  earliest  days  he 
had  occasioned  considerable  anxiety  to  his  family  by  per- 
petually hovering  on  the  brink  of  it.  Lettie  was  his  most 
trusted  counsellor,  and  in  small  financial  muddles,  at  her 
instigation,  Mrs*  Connop  bad  more  than  Qnce  come  to  the 


SEEKING  A COMMISSION. 


95 


rescue.  Clear-headed  Lettie  saw  that  with  a nature  like 
her  brother’s  the  sooner  he  was  set  to  some  serious  work 
^ the  better.  She  knew  he  was  floing  no  good  at  the  Uni- 
' versity,  and  she  was  now  very  hot  upon  his  getting  into 
the  army  as  soon  as  possible.  You  can’t  keep  a man  in 
leading  strings,  but  to  let  him  saunter  through  life  with  no 
occupation  is  bad  for  any,  destruction  to  some. 

The  preliminary  greetings  over,  Lettie  plunged  at  once 
in  tnedias  res,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  both  her 
auditors  thoroughly  with  her.  Mrs.  Conhop  was  as  keen 
that  Charlie  should  enter  the  army  as  he  was  to  get  into  it, 
and  said  that,  to  see  her  nephew  a Dragoon,  she  would  not 
at  all  grudge  contributing  handsomely  towards  his  outfit. 
And  then  she  went  on  to  tell  Charlie  how  she  had  per- 
suaded Mr.  Slade  to  ask  his  uncle.  Major  Braddock,  to 
interest  himself  in  his — Charlie’s — favour,  and  how  that 
distinguished  officer  had  promised  to  do  so,  providing  that 
he  approved  of  this  candidate  for  military  honours. 

“ But  Charlie,  Major  Braddock  will  see  you — to  use  Mr. 
Slade’s  words,  he  won’t  recommend  a recruit  he  hasn’t 
himself  inspected;  but  Mr,  Slade  says — and  it’s  awfully 
kind  of  him — that  if  you  could  manage  to  dine  with  him  at 
the  Thermopolium  one  day  next  week,  he  will  get  his  uncle 
to  meet  you.” 

‘‘  It  is  very  good  of  him,”  replied  Charlie ; “ and  I will 
manage  it  if  he  will  only  let  me  know  what  day ; but, 
remember,  I must  go  back  to  Cambridge  to-night.  I have 
only  leave  for  three  days  (he  didn’t  think  it  necessary  to 
mention  that  he  had  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  three 
days,  under  pretext  of  consulting  a London  physician) ; 
“ but  I can  always  manage  to  run  up  and  get  back  by  the 
first  train  in  the  morning.”  And  Charlie  felt,  though  he 
did  not  venture  to  express  it,  that  he  would  willingly  risk 
being  sent  down,  sooner  than  miss  this  chance  of  getting 
a nomination  for  a profession  he  had  now  set  his  heart  on. 

“Very  well,  then,”  said  Lettie  ; “ I shall  write  and  tell 
him  you  will  gratefully  accept  his  invitation,  if  he  will  for- 
ward it  to  your  Cambridge  address.” 

“That’s  all  right,”  rejoined  Charlie,  gleefully.  “And 
now,  Aunt,  I must  say  good-bye.  You  are  a trump, 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE* 


g6 

Lettie ; ’*  and  having  given  his  sister  a hearty  kiss,  and 
shaken  hands  with  his  aunt,  Charlie  shot  down  the  stairs 
and  made  his  way  back  to  Duke  Street. 

Charlie’s  meditations  were  a little  mixed  as  he  walked 
Westward.  He  was  in  high  spirits  at  the  idea  of  the  open- 
ing which  presented  itself  to  him  ; but  the  usual  bitterness 
was  mingled  in  the  cup,  to  wit,  that  he  would  have  to  make 
some  arrangements  about  those  confounded  bills.  Still, 
his  Aunt  Connop  had  just  distinctly  said  that  she  would 
come  down  with  something  handsome  to  see  him  a Dra- 
goon. Perhaps  she  would  see  him  out  of  this  scrape. 
She  had  done  so  once  or  twice  before  in  a small  way,  and 
Charlie  felt  rather  afraid  of  confessing  the  extent  of  his 
misdoings  this  time  to  his  sister,  and  she  was  the  medium 
through  which  he  generally  approached  his  aunt.  How- 
ever, he  thought,  “ Only  let  me  once  get  into  the  army, 
and  some  of  them,  I think,  are  bound  to  see  me  through  it.” 

As  he  passed  through  Piccadilly,  Charlie  took  out  his 
watch,  and  wondered  whether  he  had  time  to  turn  into 
Curzon  Street  and  call  upon  Mrs.  Kynaston.  He  was 
beginning  now  to  entertain  a lively  appreciation  of  that 
lady’s  charms.  In  the  hunting-field  she  had  a serious  rival 
in  the  goddess  Diana,  for  the  prettiest  woman  in  England 
would  have  had  to  ride  hard  and  straight  to  keep  Charlie 
in  her  company  while  hounds  were  running,  but  in  London 
it  was  very  different.  There  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  no  rival 
in  Charlie’s  estimation,  and,  miss  his  train  or  not,  he  deter- 
mined to  call.  “ Yes,  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  at  home,”  so  the 
servant  informed  him,  and  he  was  duly  ushered  into  that 
lady’s  pretty  little  drawing-room  in  Curzon  Street. 

She  received  him  with  much  empressement^  for  he  really 
was  a favourite  of  hers,  and  was  quite  aware  of  his  admira- 
tion for  herself.  She  sometimes  thought  with  a saucy  air 
of  triumph  of  their  first  meeting,  and  how  utterly  oblivious 
he  had  been  to  the  fact  that  he  was  doing  escort  to  a 
very  pretty  woman,  and  Kate  Kynaston  would  softly 
murmur  to  herself,  “ Things  would  be  very  different  now, 
I think.” 

“ Delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Devereux.  Are  you  up  in 

town  for  long  ? Heard  you  were  dining  with  my  husband 


SEEKING  A COMMISSION. 


97 


last  night ; but  I suppose  they  don’t  give  you  a long  fur- 
lough from  Cambridge  ? ” 

‘‘  No,”  laughed  Charlie ; “ very  short,  indeed,  but  I hope 
soon — yes,  very  soon — to  have  done  with  it.  I have  a 
chance  of  entering  the  army,  and  if  that  comes  off  I shall 
cut  Cambridge  at  once.  Don’t  you  think  I shall  be  right  ? ” 

“ Yes,  indeed,  I do,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston.  “ You  will 
make  a very  fair  Dragoon,  and  I don’t  think  you  ‘ frame  ’ 
for  anything  like  bookwork.” 

“ That’s  just  what  Lettie  says  ! ” exclaimed  Charlie. 

“ Yes.  The  life  will  just  suit  you — and  remember  I speak 
as  a woman  having  experience.” 

“ I don’t  think  I am  clever,”  replied  Devereux,  laughing  ; 
‘‘  but  you  needn’t  tell  a fellow  so,  Mrs.  Kynaston.  I think 
I can  ride  a bit  and  play  a decent  game  of  billiards.  I had 
some  tough  battles  with  the  Major  the  other  night,  and 
had  decidedly  the  best  of  it.” 

‘‘  Perhaps  he  was  not  in  form,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
drily.  My  husband  takes  a good  deal  of  beating  in  a 
general  way.” 

‘‘  And  I flatter  myself  I do  also,”  rejoined  Charlie,  a 
little  piqued.  ‘‘No,  I honestly  believe  I am  a few  points 
better  than  the  Major.” 

“ Well,  perhaps,  it  is  so,”  replied  Mrs.  K}^aston,  “ only 
recollect  that  my  husband  has  had  far  wider  experience 
than  you  have  had.  He  is  apt  to  play  carelessly  except 
for  money.” 

“ We  had  a trifle  on,  just  to  make  it  interesting,”  replied 
Charlie. 

“ Well,  perhaps  you  are  the  best,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
indifferently,  “ only  I wouldn’t  be  too  sure.  How  is 
Pole  Star  ? ” 

“ Doing  wonderfully  well,  I hear,  and  very  much  im- 
proved since  we  got  so  disgracefully  beaten  at  Lincoln.  I 
hope  to  avenge  my  defeat  there  in  the  autumn,  and  that 
you  will  be  there  to  see  it.” 

“ I hope  so  too,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston.  “ But  our 
movements  at  present  are  very  uncertain.  The  Major 
never  makes  up  his  mind  until  the  end  of  the  season,  and 
very  often  not  until  the  end  of  October.” 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


9? 

Major  Kynaston’s  movements  were  in  good  truth 
governed  considerably  by  his  financial  success  on  the 
Turf,  as  his  wife  had  confided  to  Lettie,  but  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton  was  not  likely  to  enter  into  such  confidences  with 
Charlie. 

‘‘  And  when  do  you  expect  to  go  up  for  your  inspection  ? 
Lettie  told  me  all  about  it,  and  I know  that  you  are  to  be 
paraded  before  Major  Braddock.  I trust  that  the  wine 
may  be  properly  iced,  and  that  the  cook  may  have  done 
his  devoirs  deftly,”  continued  Mrs.  Kynaston,  laughing. 
‘‘  I suppose  you  know  that  a mistake  in  a side  dish,  or  the 
claret  served  at  an  undue  temperature,  may  nip  your 
aspirations  in  the  bud  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  replied  C^rlie,  joining  in  her  laugh.  ‘‘  I have 
heard  that  Major  Braddock  regards  dinner  as  a very 
solemn  function  ; but  we  are  to  dine  at  his  own  club,  and 
surely  there  should  be  safety  in  that.  I should  think  the  chef 
for  his  own  sake  would  do  his  best  for  Major  Braddock.” 

‘‘  There  is  much  worldly  wisdom  in  your  speech,” 
rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston.  Gourmets  like  Major  Braddock 
‘back  their  bills,’  and  make  bitter  the  lives  of  both  cook 
and  committee  should  even  their  mutton  chop  not  be  done 
to  the  exact  turn.” 

“ Let  us  hope  the  Fates  will  be  propitious.  And  now, 
Mrs.  Kynaston,  I must  wish  you  good-bye,  for  I have  but 
just  time  to  pack  up  my  traps  and  catch  my  train.” 

“ Good-bye  and  may  all  success  attend  you.  Write  as 
soon  as  you  know ; or,  better  still,  come  and  tell  me  you 
are  to  be  a Dragoon.” 

Kate  Kynaston  sat  plunged  in  reverie  for  same  time 
after  Charlie  had  taken  his  departure.  She  knew  her 
husband  too  well  to  suppose  that  the  light-hearted  boy 
would  have  any  chance  with  him  at  cards  or  billiards. 
What  could  Dick  mean  ? He  surely  did  not  intend  to 
^plunder  such  small  game  as  Charlie  Devereux,  and  yet 
that  the  latter  had  any  chance  with  her  husband  at  billiards 
or  cards  she  did  not  believe  for  one  moment.  Poor  Kate ! 
it  was  far  from  her  nature  to  turn  hawk,  and  she  had 
winced  at  first  when  her  eyes  were  opened  to  the  fact  that 
Dick  Kynaston  got  his  living  for  the  most  part  by  his  skill 


SEEKING  A COMMISSION. 


99 


in  all  description  of  ‘ play.  But  she  soon  grew  callous, 
and  even  stooped  to  make  use  of  her  own  smiles  and  bright 
eyes  to  lure  men  into  her  husband’s  net.  But  she  was 
loyal  to  her  favourites,  and  Dick,  though  he  ruled  her  with 
an  iron  hand,  on  the  whole  knew  that  now  and  again  she 
would  stand  no  plundering  of  the  innocents.  It  was  on 
behalf  of  the  young  ones  Kate  chiefly  interfered.  Her 
elder  admirers,  she  deemed,  ought  to  be  able  to  take  care 
of  themselves,  but  she  would  interfere  sharply  sometimes 
on  behalf  of  her  boyish  adorers,  and  she  was  just  the  sort 
of  woman  whom  quite  young  men  especially  worship.  I 
don’t  mean  to  say  that  Kate  Kynaston  had  not  plenty  of 
men  of  all  ages  at  her  feet,  but  she  had  a quiet  way  with 
her  that  put  “ young  ones  ” at  their  ease  in  the  first  half- 
hour.  No,  she  would  not  have  this  thing.  She  would  tell 
Dick  that  he  must  stay  his  hand  as  far  as  Charlie  Devereux 
was  concerned.  She  knew  that  he  was  wild,  and  she  knew 
that  he  was  weak,  but  she  would  not  have  it  on  her  con- 
science that  she  stood  by  and  saw  this  boy  ruined  on  the 
threshold  of  his  career.  She  was  submissive  in  general, 
and  Dick  Kynaston  was  not  the  man  to  bear  the  thwarting 
of  his  schemes  patiently,  but  this  matter  should  be  speedily 
settled  between  them,  and  she  would  let  him  know  that 
Charlie  Devereux  must  be  spared. 

Then  her  thoughts  ran  back  to  the  old  channel.  She 
did  not  deceive  herself  in  the  least.  She  knew  that  her 
liking  for  Gilbert  Slade  was  growing  on  her.  She  knew  it 
from  the  dismay  with  which  she  had  learnt  that  he  had 
interfered  in  Charlie  Devereux’s  behalf  at  Lettie’s  request. 
Gilbert,  she  argued,  must  be  much  struck  with  that  young 
lady  to  take  all  this  trouble  on  her  brother’s  account.  She 
had  taken  a great  fancy  to  Lettie,  but  unfortunately  she 
had  taken  an  equally  strong  one  for  Slade,  and  when  two 
such  friendships  clash  it  is  pretty  safe  to  predict  that  the 
woman  will  be  thrown  over  in  favour  of  the  man. 

Again,  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  chosen,  in  virtue  of  her  prior 
acquaintance,  to  regard  Gilbert  Slade  as  her  own  peculiar 
property.  How  very  slight  that  acquaintance  had  been 
was  shown  by  the  fact  that  when  he  met  her  on  old  Tom 
Devereux’s  drag  at  Lincoln  be  had  failed  to  remember  her. 


TOO 


SADDLE  AND  SABRHL 


True,  Gilbert  had  devoted  himself  to  her  upon  that  occa* 
sion  more  than  to  Lettie,  but  a man  would  have  laughed 
at  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  entertaining  such  an  idea  that  she  held 
right  of  vassalage  over  Gilbert,  though  a woman  would 
perfectly  have  understood  it,  and  have  divined  in  a moment 
that  the  friendship  of  those  two  would  be  of  short  duration 
now  that  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  jealousy  was  aroused.  That 
lady,  rousing  herself  at  length  from  her  reverie,  sprang  to 
her  feet,  and  as  she  paced  up  and  down  the  drawing-room, 
was  quite  as  determined  that  Lettie  Devereux  should  never 
wed  Gilbert  Slade,  as  that  her  husband  should  not  plunder 
the  brother. 


ILBERT  SLADE  contrived  to  see  a good  deal  of 


Miss  Devereux  during  this  last  fortnight.  As  the 
diplomatist  who  had  the  arranging  a meeting  between 
Charlie  and  Major  Braddock  on  the  most  favourable  terms, 
he  found  it  necessary  to  consult  Lettie  very  often.  The 
Major  usually,  and  more  especially  at  this  time  of  year,  had 
pretty  numerous  engagements  in  the  dinner  way.  There- 
fore it  was  necessary  to  ascertain,  first,  what  evening  would 
suit  him.  Then  it  was  imperative  that  Charlie  should  be 
written  to,  and  told  that  if  anything  should  prevent  his 
attending  on  that  occasion  he  must  telegraph  at  once,  as 
otherwise  he  would  create  a most  unfavourable  impression 
on  the  Major,  who  regarded  engagements  of  this  sort  as 
bonds  of  the  most  sacred  description.  Charlie  also  had  to 
be  cautioned  against  the  heinous  sin  of  unpunctuality. 
Very  fond  was  the  Major  of  laying  down  the  axiom,  that  to 
be  late  on  such  an  occasion  was  an  offence  unpardonable. 
When  in  the  army  he  had  been  always  given  to  harrying 
the  subalterns  about  being  behind  time  for  the  men’s  duty. 
Unpunctuality  on  other  parades  he  might  look  over,  but 
not  on  this  one ; so  that  altogether  Gilbert  was  a good 
deal  in  Onslow  Gardens.  However,  at  last  everything 
was  arranged  Charlie  had  been  most  carefully  tutored, 


XIV. — Charlie  on  Probation. 


CHARLIE  ON  PROBATION. 


lOI 


as  far  as  Lettie,  inspired  by  Slade,  could  do  so  by  the  post. 
He  had  even  been  tutored  into  studying  “ Lucille, and 
warned,  if  he  saw  a fair  opportunity,  to  fire  off  the  follow- 
ing quotation  from  that  poem  : — 

Wc  may  live  without  friends,  we  may  live  without  books ; 

But  civilised  men  cannot  live  without  cooks. 

“ I am  so  very  anxious,”  said  Lettie,  when  the  important 
day  was  finally  fixed.  “ I do  so  hope  Charlie  will  acquit 
himself  creditably.  I have  done  as  you  told  me.  I have 
warned  him  to  be  highly-appreciative  of  the  good  things 
set  before  him ; but  to  be  a little  diffident  as  to  giving  an 
opinion  about  the  wine.” 

“ Quite  right,”  said  Gilbert,  laughing.  “ Very  young 
men  are  apt  to  set  up  as  judges  in  that  respect,  and  I know 
that  always  moves  Uncle  Bob’s  wrath.  I even  once  heard 
him  assert  that  no  man  knew  anything  about  wine  until  he 
had  had  a fit  of  the  gout.” 

“ But,”  cried  Lettie,  “ men  don’t  always  have  the  gout, 
do  they  ? ” 

“ I fancy  my  uncle  and  his  cronies  are  unanimous  con- 
cerning that  complaint.  We  must  only  hope  that  he  is 
not  disposed  to  just  now.” 

“ It  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Slade,  to  take  all  this 
trouble  for  me,  and  I am  very  grateful  to  you  ; but  I feel 
wofully  nervous  about  Charlie’s  ordeal.  Your  uncle  seems 
somewhat  peculiar.” 

“ Not  at  all.  Miss  Devereux  ; not  more  so  than  the  gene- 
rality of  mankind.  The  only  thing  is  that, as  I want  Charlie 
to  show  to  the  best  advantage,  I’m  giving  you  a chart  ol 
the  country.  We  have  most  of  us  peculiarities,  and  it  is 
just  our  clashing  of  these  that  makes  people  take  a dislike 
to  us  when  we  first  meet  them.” 

“ It  is  very  good  of  you,  and  I can’t  be  sufficiently 
grateful.” 

“ Don’t  think  of  it,”  interrupted  Gilbert ; “ I’m  only  toG 
pleased  that  I managed  to  arrange  the  matter  before  my 
time  was  up.  I must  leave  London  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row ; but  I was  so  afraid  that  it  might  not  come  off.” 

“ But  I shall  see  you  again  before  you  go  ? ” said  Lettie^ 


102 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


“ Oh,  yes,  Fll  come  down  to-morrow  afternoon,  if  you’ll 
allow  me,  and  tell  you  how  things  went  off.  And  now  I 
must  say  adieu.  Depend  on  it,  it  will  be  all  right,  Miss 
Devereux.  Uncle  Bob  is  a good-natured  fellow,  though 
perhaps  over-fond  of  his  dinner,  and  has  always  done  any- 
thing I wanted  ; ” and  with  these  words  of  encouragement 
Gilbert  Slade  took  his  departure. 

Lettie  really  was  very  anxious  that  Charlie  should  get 
into  the  army.  She  thought,  unless  he  had  some  occupa- 
tion, that  volatile  brother  of  hers  would  most  assuredly 
come  to  grief.  She  had  been  greatly  pleased  with  the  en- 
thusiasm he  showed  at  the  prospect  of  entering  the  army, 
and  it  was  therefore  no  wonder  that  she  should  be  anxious 
about  his  success. 

“ It’s  odd,”  thought  Lettie,  “ but  really  at  present  his 
chance  seems  to  depend  on  the  caprice  of  a middle-aged 
gentleman.”  Then  she  thought  how  very  kind  Mr.  Slade 
had  been  about  the  whole  business  ; and  then  I think  her 
whole  reverie  rather  concentrated  itself  on  Mr.  Slade  him- 
self. It  is  a very  easy  transition,  when  the  subject  is  a 
good-looking  young  man,  to  glide  from  **  how  very  kind  ” 
to  “ how  very  nice  ” he  was,  and  from  that  to  those  day- 
dreams in  which  all  young  ladies  are  prone  to  indulge,  and 
to  what  answer  she  should  give  if  ever  he  should  ask  the 
momentous  question,  and  from  that  the  vrhole  thing  dies 
away  in  a background  of  orange  flowers,  bridesmaids,  rice, 
and  old  slippers. 

The  fateful  evening  at  last  arrived.  Charlie  Devereux, 
having  compared  his  watch  with  the  Horseguards  in  the 
afternoon — the  one  authority  on  time  that  Major  Braddock 
recognised,  to  which  all  other  clocks  were  expected  to  bend 
— arrived  at  the  Thermopolium  at  least  ten  minutes  before 
the  appointed  hour.  Gilbert  shook  him  heartily  by  the 
hand,  and  said,  laughing, 

“ This  will  do.  Uncle  Robert  is  not  here  himself  yet. 
Don’t  forget  the  hints  I have  sent  you ; I know  you’ll  excuse 
my  doing  so,  but  of  course  we  have  a point  to  carry : ap- 
preciative but  not  demonstrative  about  the  dinner,  and 
somewhat  diffident  on  the  subject  of  wine  ; bear  in  mind 
it’s  all  the  Major’s  ordering ; and  everything  is  sure  to  be 


CHARLIE  ON  PROBATION.  I03 

^ood,  or  else  I prophesy  a very  stormy  morrow  down  below 
for  the  cook  and  butler.” 

“ I shall  do  my  very  best,”  rejoined  Charlie,  **  to  profit 
by  your  hints.  As  I am  terribly  in  earnest  about  this  thing, 
I hope  I shall  pass  muster.  Anyway  I can’t  sufficient-y 
thank  you,  Slade,  for  the  trouble  you  have  taken  about  it ! ” 

“ Nonsense,”  replied  the  other,  “ but  hush,  here  comes 
the  great  pasha  himself.” 

“To  the  minute.  Uncle  Robert.  Let  me  introduce  my 
friend,  Mr.  Devereux.” 

The  Major  shook  hands  cordially  with  Charlie,  but  at 
the  same  time  Gilbert  noticed  an  extremely  puzzled  express 
sion  on  his  countenance.  As  they  went  upstairs  to  the 
coffee-room,  Major  Braddock  took  advantage  of  an  oppor- 
tunity to  whisper  to  his  nephew. 

“ Deuced  odd,  Bertie,  but  I’ll  swear  I have  seen  your 
friend  before.” 

“ Not  likely,  I think,”  rejoined  Slade.  “ Some  likeness 
probably  misleads  you.” 

“ Not  a bit  of  it,”  rejoined  the  Major  testily.  His  valet 
had  forgotten  his  buttonhole,  and  had  to  be  despatched  in 
a hansom  cab  in  hot  haste  in  search  of  this  indispensable 
adjunct  at  nearly  the  last  moment.  Notwithstanding, 
Major  Braddock  sat  down  to  his  dinner.  The  clear 
turtle  was  undeniable,  and  by  the  time  the  glass  of 
Madeira,  its  natural  sequence,  had  been  swallowed,  the 
Major  dismissed  the  subject,  and  had  given  himself  up 
to  enjoyment.  The  dinner  proved  a success  on  every 
point.  The  champagne  was  iced  to  a turn,  the  claret  was 
warmed  to  a nicety,  and  Charlie,  with  the  aid  of  the 
few  hints  he  had  received,  had  no  difficulty  in  passing  as 
what  he  really  was,  a genuine  unaffected  gentlemanly  young 
fellow.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  found  favour  in  the 
Major’s  sight,  and  when  the  quotation  was  dexterously 
fired  off  over  a wondrous  cunning  salmi  that  appeared  as 
the  dinner  wore  on,  the  Major  exclaimed : 

“ My  dear  young  friend,  allow  me  to  congratulate  you. 
You  have  the  making  of  an  epicure,  and  a considerable 
rudimentary  knowledge  of  the  highest  art  of  civilisation. 
I have  little  doubt  that  in  course  of  time  you’ll  be  as  good 


104 


SADDLE  AND  SABRR 


a judge  of  a dinner  as  I am ! ’’  And  the  Major  uttered 
these  words  in  the  same  manner  that  another  man  might 
have  suggested  a Victoria  Cross  or  a K.C.B.-ship  as  goals 
in  a military  career.  “ It  is  to  be  regretted,”  continued  the 
Major,  glancing  sadly  down  at  his  own  portly  proportions, 

that  the  acquirement  of  such  knowledge  does  spoil  the 
figure,  but  as  Mr.  Weller  remarked,  and  he  must  (in  his 
rough  way)  have  been  as  one  of  us,  ‘ Width  and  wisdom 
go  together.*  ** 

After  a couple  of  cigars  Charlie,  in  obedience  to  a hint 
from  his  mentor,  took  his  departure. 

“ He’ll  do,  Bertie ; he’ll  do  ! As  nice  a young  one  as  I 
have  seen  for  some  time.  I shall  have  great  pleasure  in 
doing  all  I can  for  him.  I cannot  think  who  his  face 

reminds  me  of God  bless  my  soul ! I have  it  now  ! — 

being  here,  recalls  it  to  my  memory.  That  is  the  young 
fellow  I saw  about  a fortnight  ago  playing  billiards  in  the 
next  room  with  that  old  robber,  Dick  Kynaston.  And  I’ll 
tell  you  what,  Bertie,  my  boy ; if  Devereux  has  got  any 
money,  the  sooner  you  give  him  the  hint  the  better.  I 
know  what  Dick  Kynaston  can  do  on  a billiard-table.  And 
during  the  little  time  that  I looked  on  he  was  playing  with 
young  Devereux  as  a cat  plays  with  a mouse.” 

“ I shouldn’t  think  that  Charlie  Devereux  was  worth  Ky- 
naston’s  attention  in  that  way.  Of  course  he  knows  them. 
They  were  up  hunting  in  his  country  all  last  season.  But 
I’m  very  glad  you  like  young  Devereux,  and  hope  now  that 
you’ll  give  him  a lift.” 

“ I will,  I will ! But  don’t  say  too  much  about  it,  Bertie ; 
for  I don’t  want  to  disappoint  him.  And — it  may  not  come 
off.” 

**  Quite  good  enough.  Uncle  Robert,  to  know  that  you’ll 
do  your  best.  But  I’ll  be  careful  not  to  arouse  undue 
expectations.” 

The  next  afternoon  Gilbert  wended  his  way  to  Onslow 
Gardens  to  tell  Lettie  what  had  been  accomplished. 

‘‘  Most  satisfactory,  I assure  you.  Miss  Devereux.  Major 
Braddock  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  your  brother,  and 
pronounced  him  a very  nice  youngster.  Even  the  quota- 
tion was  fired  off  with  great  dexterity.  I have  done  every* 


CHARLIE  ON  PROBATION. 


105 


thing  possible,  and  though  of  course  we  can’t  be  quite  cer- 
tain, yet  I have  little  doubt  my  uncle  will  obtain  him  a 
nomination.  The  examination,  of  course,  is  Charlie’s 
affair,  but  I don’t  suppose  that  will  bother  him  much.” 

“ Whether  it  bothers  him  or  not,  he  must  pass  it,” 
rejoined  Miss  Devereux,  laughing ; “ even  if  I have  to  turn 
schoolmistress,  and  hear  him  his  lessons  daily.  However, 
I have  no  fear  about  that.  Charlie  will  work  hard  enough, 
if  it  is  wanted,  with  an  object  in  view.  And  now,  do  you 
really  leave  London  to-morrow  ? ” 

“Yes.  Leave  is  up.  and  I must  return  to  York.  It  is 
not  a bad  quarter,  but  no  place  seems  a good  one  when 
you  want  to  be  somewhere  else.  By  the  way,  you  are  very 
intimate  with  the  Kynastons,  are  you  not  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Lettie.  “ That  is,  with  Mrs.  Kynaston. 
I like  her  very  much.  She  is  as  bright  as  she  is  pretty, 
and  can  be  so  excessively  amusing.” 

“ But,”  said  Gilbert,  “ I gather  you  don’t  care  much  for 
Major  Kynaston  ? ” 

“ No,”  said  Lettie,  “ I’m  sure  I don’t  know  why  not,  for 
he  has  always  been  very  civil  and  polite  to  me.  I have  no 
doubt  I am  quite  wrong,  but  he  always  gives  me  the  idea 
of  being  so  insincere.” 

“I  fancy  he  rather  bears  that  character,”  said  Slade; 
“ but  what  has  become  of  Mrs.  Connop  ? ” 

“ She  is  to  come  back  for  me,  and  take  me  out  driving, 
and  is  very  nearly  due  now,”  and  Lettie  glanced  at  the 
clock.  “ I was  so  anxious  to  hear  of  Charlie’s  prospects, 
that  I waited  to  see  him.  As  for  thanking  you  for  the  good 
news  you  brought,  I cannot  sufficiently ; but  you  do  under- 
stand, Mr.  Slade,  how  very  grateful  I am,  don’t  you  ? ” 
Lettie  had  risen  from  her  chair,  and  very  handsome  the 
girl  looked  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  and  very 
handsome  the  girl  looked  with  her  cheeks  slightly  flushed, 
and  her  gray  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure.  This  getting 
her  brother  into  the  army  was  an  object  very  near  to  her 
heart.  She  was  of  a warm-hearted,  impulsive  disposition, 
and  very  fond  of  Charlie,  and  was  extremely  gratified  at 
the  prospect  of  Charlie’s  becoming  a Dragoon.  Gilbert 
was  by  no  means  blind  to  her  attractions,  and  thought 


1 00 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


V 


Miss  Devereux  had  never  looked  so  handsome  as  she  did 
at  this  moment. 

‘‘  You’re  making  much  of  a very  small  service,”  he  said, 
‘‘  and  I’m  quite  ashamed  at  the  wealth  of  gratitude  by 
which  it  is  repaid.  Don’t  you  know  we  all  go  upon  the 
recruiting  service  sometimes  ? I can  only  trust  in  the 
future  that  you’ll  have  no  cause  to  shake  your  head,  and 
pointing  at  me,  say ; ‘ There’s  the  Sergeant  Kite  that 
trapped  my  brother.’  ” 

“ I have  no  fear  of  the  result,”  rejoined  Lettie.  ‘‘  But 
happen  what  may,  I will  promise  never  to  blame  you  for 
it ; here  is  my  hand  on  it.” 

Slade  took  the  small  palm  which  Lettie  extended,  and 
not  only  pressed  it  warmly,  but  detained  it  a trifle  longer 
than  there  was  any  necessity  for.  The  girl  coloured 
slightly  as  he  at  last  released  it,  and  then  exclaimed  : 

“ I hear  the  carriage,  and  must  run  and  get  my  bonnet 
on.  You  stay  and  tell  my  aunt  all  about  it.  I shall  be 
down  again  in  ten  minutes.” 

Mrs.  Connop  was  as  much  delighted  as  Lettie  with  the 
news,  and  full  of  anxiety  to  know  when  Charlie  might 
expect  his  nomination.  When  did  Gilbert  think  that 
Charlie  would  be  gazetted ; what  regiment  was  he  likely 
to  be  appointed  to  ? and  various  questions  of  a like  nature, 
which  Mr.  Slade  had  to  plead  his  utter  inability  to  answer. 
Then,  in  the  expansiveness  of  her  nature,  she  begged  him 
to  come  and  dine,  and  spend  his  last  evening  with  them  ; 
but  Lettie  fortunately  returned  just  in  time  to  remind  her 
that  they  themselves  were  engaged  that  evening.  And 
Lettie  felt  rather  put  out  that  it  should  happen  to  be  so. 
However,  there  was  no  help  for  it.  So  Gilbert  made  his 
adieux,  supplemented  with  a promise  to  be  at  Lincoln  to 
witness  Pole  Star’s  triumph  in  the  autumn. 

“ I shall  be  a very  happy  woman,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs. 
Connop,  as  the  carriage  rolled  away  Park-wards,  “ if  I see 
Charlie  a Dragoon,  and  you  engaged  to  be  married  before 
the  year’s  out.” 

“ Nonsense,  aunt,”  replied  Lettie.  “ How  can  you  be 
so  foolish  ? ” 

Mr.  Slade  is  a very  good-looking  man,  and  althongh  1 


ENTERED  FOR  THE  ARMY. 


107 


dcn*t  suppose  he’s  at  all  made  up  his  mind  yet,  I doubt 
whether  he’d  call  the  idea  * nonsense  ’ exactly.  At  all 
events  Charlie’s  commission  is  an  event  more  than  proba- 
ble, you  must  admit.” 

“ Much  more  probable  than  the  other,  Auntie,  dear,” 
rejoined  Lettie,  as  she  turned  her  face  away. 

“ We  shall  see,”  said  Mrs.  Connop,  tersely. 


XV. — Entered  for  the  Army. 

T DON’T  exactly  see  your  object,  Dick;  but,  as  you 

I know.  I’m  not  in  the  habit  of  bothering  you  abou^ 
reasons.  It  is  usually  sufficient  for  me  to  know  what  you 
want  without  troubling  my  head  about  why  you  want  it, 
I have  been  civil  to  this  Mr.  Furzedon,  as  you  requested ; 
and,  if  you  think  it  worth  while,  could  make  a small  dinner 
for  him.  What  he  wants  is  obvious : the  man  is  mad  to 
push  his  way  into  London  society ; we  are  one  of  his  step- 
ping stones.  Of  course  I can  help  him,  though  I don’t 
think  much  of  him  ; but  it  is  for  you  to  decide  whether  it  is 
worth  our  while.” 

“ Never  mind  the  dinner,  Kate,  and  never  mind  the 
* why.’  I have  a strong  idea  that  Furzedon  may  be  very 
useful  to  me  before  long.  I have  made  a mistake  about 
him  to  start  with,  and  thought  that  because  he  was  young 
he  was  innocent.  That  young  man  was  born  the  wrong 
side  of  forty,  and  one  would  have  to  get  up  early  to  teach 
him  anything  he  don’t  know.  Why,  if  I didn’t  detect  him 
foxing  at  billiards  with  me ! It  isn’t  that  I couldn’t  beat 
his  head  off ; but  the  cheek  of  his  thinking  that  he  could 
impose  on  a man  of  my  experience,”  and  the  Major  looked 
as  Tennyson  might  do  at  receiving  a hint  from  a provincial 
poetaster. 

“ I had  nothing  to  do  with  that,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston 
quietly ; “ only  remember,  if  I am  civil  to  him  and  forward 
his  views,  it  is  because  you  desire  it.  And  now,  Dick,  one 
word  in  earnest.  1 don’t  say  you  mean  the  boy  any  harm  j 


io8 


SADDLE  AND  SABRa 


but  I do  know  you  have  imbued  Charlie  Devereux  with  the 
idea  that  he  can  beat  you  at  billiards,  and  probably  many 
other  games.*' 

“ What  the  deuce  is  it  to  you  if  he  should  think  so  ? I 
can  scarcely  suppose,  my  lady,”  he  continued  with  a sneer, 
“ that  you  have  interested  yourself  in  a boy  like  that  1 ** 

“ You  happen  to  be  wrong,  Dick,”  she  said  quietly.  I 
have,  though  not  in  the  way  you  would  insinuate ; but 
mind.  I’ll  not  see  that  boy  plundered.  And  while  paying 
this  compliment  to  your  skill,  I will  also  point  out  that  it 
is  surely  not  worth  your  while.” 

That  is  a thing,  Kate,  you  will  perhaps  allow  me  to 
judge  for  myself.  You  will  be  good  enough  to  bear  in  mind 
that  I stand  no  interference  with  my  plans.” 

“ It  is  very  rarely  that  I run  counter  to  your  wishes,” 
rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston  ; **  but  you  know  from  past  experi- 
ence that  when  I am  firmly  resolved  on  a thing  I can  be 
every  bit  as  obstinate  as  you.  Charlie  Devereux  shall 
come  to  no  harm  at  your  hands  if  I can  prevent  it.  As  for 
Mr.  Furzedon,  I’ll  not  raise  a finger  in  his  behalf.” 

“ You  fool ! ” rejoined  the  Major.  “ Only  that  you  are 
creating  a storm  in  a teacup,  I would  soon  show  you  that 
you  have  to  obey  orders  ; but  I am  not  likely  to  harm 
Charlie  Devereux,  for  the  best  of  all  possible  reasons — the 
game  would  not  pay  for  the  candle.  There  is  never  any 
harm  in  ascertaining  any  man’s  form  at  any  game  he 
fancies  himself  at,  and  that  young  undergraduate  thinks  he 
can  play  billiards.” 

‘‘  Now  we  understand  each  other,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
‘‘  we  will  leave  him,  if  you  please,  in  that  delusion.  At  all 
events,  he  shall  not  be  rudely  awakened  at  my  hands.” 

‘‘A  good  deal  of  talk  about  nothing,  as  usual,”  sneered 
the  Major.  ‘‘  I shan’t  be  at  home  either  to  lunch  or  dinner, 
so  make  your  own  arrangements,”  and,  so  saying,  the  Major 
put  on  his  hat,  and  having  looked  in  the  glass,  and  given  a 
last  twirl  to  his  moustache,  took  his  departure. 

Hawks  speedily  recognise  hawks  ; in  short,  beasts  of  prey 
rarely  fail  to  detect  one  another.  The  carnivora  of  hu- 
manity are  swiftly  aware  of  each  other’s  presence.  Just  as 
amongst  those  outside  the  pale  of  the  law  there  are  cabal- 


ENTERED  FOR  THE  ARMY. 


109 


istic  signs  and  a shibboleth  not  understood  by  ordinary 
people,  so  amongst  the  higher  vultures  of  society  there  is  a 
recognition  that  takes  but  a short  time  to  arrive  at.  The 
adventurer  who  has  lived  over  half  Europe  very  rapidly 
takes  stock  of  his  brothers,  and  Kynaston  had  already  dis- 
covered that  Ralph  Furzedon  was  a very  promising  pro- 
fessor of  his  own  line  of  business. 

‘‘ Just  the  partner  I want,*’ thought  the  Major.  “Has 
some  capital,  but  wants  introductions  and  opportunities. 
We  might  do  great  things  together.  He  would  be  an  apt 
pupil  with  my  experience  to  guide  him.” 

Apt  pupils,  when  you  are  engaged  in  such  ticklish  pursuits 
as  the  Major’s,  are  likely  to  prove  inconvenient  in  the  long 
run.  There  is  an  old  adage  that  runs 

To  teach  his  grandson  draughts,  then  his  leisure  he’d  employ, 

Until  at  last  the  old  man  was  beaten  by  the  boy. 

It  is  rather  a nuisance  when  our  protege  gets  the  best  of 
us  at  our  own  game,  and  in  the  sort  of  games  played  by 
the  social  bandits  of  the  Kynaston  type  there  is  not  uncom- 
monly disagreement  about  the  division  of  the  spoil.  Furze- 
don, though  young  in  years,  was,  as  the  Major  rightly 
conceived,  old  in  the  iniquities  of  play  of  all  kinds,  and 
Dick  Kynaston  is  destined  to  have  many  uncomfortable 
hours  in  consequence  of  the  projected  partnership. 

“ Honour  among  thieves”  is  just  as  fallacious  a saying 
as  that  “ Force  is  no  remedy,”  or  that  “ Coercion  is  the 
dragooning  of  a country.”  All  civilised  countries  live  under 
coercion,  which  simply  means  that  the  inhabitants  have  to 
observe  the  laws  of  the  land  they  live  in  ; and  force  is  usually 
the  remedy  employed  to  those  who  infringe  them.  As  for 
coercion,  I suppose  no  city  in  the  universe  is  under  the 
extreme  coercion  of  London,  where  your  lying  down  is 
almost  provided  for  as  in  the  days  when  the  Norman 
ordained  that  the  curfew  should  toll,  whilst  the  Sabbath 
you,  if  a man  without  a home  or  a club,  are  bound  to  ob- 
serve in  weariness  and  fasting.  There  is  very  little  honour 
observed  of  thieves,  whatever  their  rank  in  life,  when  their 
interests  clash.  What  had  first  opened  Kynaston ’s  eyes  to 
the  precociousness  of  his  young  friend  had  been  Furzedon ’s 


no 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


accurate  information  with  regard  to  Turf  matters.  The 
old  usurer,  of  whom,  as  a parent,  that  gentleman  was  so 
heartily  ashamed,  had  Jewish  blood  in  his  veins,  and  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  tribes  generally,  and  especi- 
ally with  those  in  his  own  way  of  business.  Now  the  Jews 
have  been  invariably  mixed  up  in  all  sport  at  which  money 
is  to  be  made — from  the  prize-ring  to  the  racecourse.  I can’t 
call  to  mind  a Hebrew  cricketer,  but  to  the  Turf  and  the 
Ring  the  Israelites  have  largely  contributed,  and  the  former 
sendeth  the  Gentile  constantly  to  Shadrac  for  the  means 
with  which  to  appease  Gideon.  Therefore  racing  secrets 
are  rife  amongst  these  people,  and  Furzedon  was  constantly 
permitted  to  share  their  knowledge ; and  the  information 
he  had  thus  been  occasionally  able  to  proffer  the  Major 
had  given  that  gentleman  a high  opinion  of  his  capacity. 

Who  lists  the  wind  where  it  blows? 

Who  can  tell  what  mischief  a woman’s  vanity  and 
caprice  may  occasion  when  wounded  and  disappointed  ? 
But  let  that  woman’s  love  be  not  a caprice,  but  a serious 
passion,  and  it’s  odds,  like  other  fires,  it  leaves  ruin  behind 
it  ere  it  burns  itself  out.  Mrs.  Kynaston,  still  brooding 
over  her  fancy  for  Gilbert  Slade,  is  a woman  in  whom  the 
fire  is  already  smouldering,  with  vanity  already  mortified, 
and,  in  spite  of  an  outwardly  easy-going  manner,  of  a 
temper  that  will  reck  little  of  consequences  should  the 
flames  break  out. 

As  for  that  Hussar  speeding  northwards,  he  little  dreams 
of  his  conquest,  or  of  the  coil  he  has  left  behind  him.  He 
is  by  no  means  blind  to  feminine  beauty,  and  quite  recog- 
nises that  Mrs.  Kynaston  is  fair  to  look  upon,  and  it  was 
quite  possible  that  had  not  a fairer  in  his  eyes  than  she 
dawned  simultaneously  on  the  horizon,  he  might  have 
become  her  devoted  cavalier  for  a time ; but  as  it  is  he 
thinks  only  of  Lettie,  and  has  well-nigh  forgotten  Mrs. 
Kynaston’s  existence,  a circumstance  which  that  lady  has 
far  too  good  an  opinion  of  her  own  attractions  to  ever 
dream  of.  That  Gilbert  Slade  was  wavering  in  his  allegi- 
ance, she  did  think.  She  was  accustomed  to  that,  but 


ENTERED  FOR  THE  ARMY. 


Ill 


with  this  difference,  that  the  wavering  was  usually  in  her 
favour,  and  at  some  other  woman’s  expense. 

Gilbert  Slade  found  the  stream  of  life  in  the  Northern 
capital  run  somewhat  sluggish  after  London.  A quaint 
old  city  waxes  somewhat  drowsy  in  the  dog  days,  only  to 
wake  up  again  when  August  brings  racing  on  the  Knaves- 
mire,  and  the  Leger  and  the  hunting  season  are  near  at 
hand.  However,  Gilbert  made  the  best  of  things,  and  was 
getting  through  what  is  rather  the  dead  season  in  the 
country  — to  men  — very  fairly,  wondering  occasionally 
what  Miss  Devereux  was  doing,  and  whether  she  was  still 
in  town,  when  one  morning  the  post  brought  him  a letter 
from  his  Uncle  Robert,  which  necessitated  his  at  once 
communicating  with  that  young  lady.  It  was  dated  from 
the  “ Thermopolium,”  and  ran  as  follows: — 

**  Dear  Bob, — 

“ I have  succeeded  in  getting  a nomination  for 
your  proteg^y  and  if  he  prospers  he  won’t  be  the  first  soldier 
who  has  owed  success  in  his  profession  to  the  attractions 
of  his  female  relations.  His  Royal  Highness  was  exceed- 
ingly nice  about  it,  and  said,  ‘ I can  oblige  you.  Major 
Braddock,  in  what  you  want,  and  1 shall  have  much 
pleasure  in  doing  so.  There  is  a cornetcy  going  in  your 
old  regiment,  and  I’m  sure  I can’t  do  better  for  him  than 
that.  I inspected  them  not  long  ago,  and  found  them,  as 
usual,  all  that  they  ought  to  be.  Leave  his  name  and 
address  in  the  outer  room,  and  I’ll  see  Mr.  Devereux  gets 
his  nomination  at  once.  There  will  be  an  examination  in 
October,  and  he  will  be  gazetted  as  soon  as  he  has  got 
through  that,’  and  then  His  Royal  Highness  remarked, 
laughing,  * I was  glad  to  find  that  the  champagne  of  the 
— th  Hussars  was  as  good  as  ever;  Colonel  Higginson 
told  me  that  you  still  looked  after  them  in  that  respect,  and 
are  a sort  of  honorary  mess  president  even  yet.’  I thanked 
His  Highness,  and  told  him  I still  tried  to  do  my  duty  to 
my  country  And  so  I do,  you  dog ! Am  I not  always 
recommending  her  defenders  to  drink  the  best  brands  only  ? 
Nothing  injures  the  constitution  more  than  drinking  bad 
wine.  Now,  Master  Bertie,  I have  succeeded  in  getting 


II2 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


young  Devereux  entered,  bear  in  mind  I shan’t  like  it  if 
he’s  beat.  Tell  him  he  must  pass.  I don’t  want  His 
Royal  Highness  to  blow  me  up  for  having  interfered  in 
behalf  of  a confounded  fool.  You  had  better  write  to  him 
at  once,  and  tell  him  to  look  up  his  books  again.  Thank 
goodness,  in  my  time  they  didn’t  think  it  necessary  we 
should  know  so  much  before  we  began.  They  caught  us 
young,  and  left  it  to  the  regiment  to  break  us. 

“ Your  affectionate  uncle, 

“ Robert  Braddock.” 

Gilbert  Slade  was  excessively  pleased  at  the  result  of 
the  Major’s  interference.  He  felt  that  he  really  had  been 
of  prompt  service  to  Miss  Devereux  in  this  business.  And 
then  he  thought  that  it  would  be  rather  a credit  to  himself 
to  have  introduced  a recruit  who  could  ride  like  Charlie 
into  the  regiment,  for  Gilbert  had  too  much  of  the  racing 
instincts  of  his  family  not  to  recognite  that  Charlie  only 
wanted  practice  to  become  a really  good  gentleman  rider, 
and  even  in  a cavalry  regiment  men  really  good  between 
the  flags  are  rare.  There  was  one  thing — it  was  of  course 
imperative  upon  him  now  to  write  to  Miss  Devereux,  and 
somehow  he  thought  it  would  be  rather  pleasant  to  open  a 
correspondence  with  Lettie.  . That  missive  duly  arrived  in 
Onslow  Gardens,  and  threw  the  recipient  and  Mrs.  Connop 
into  a state  of  the  wildest  delight,  tempered  with  no  little 
anxiety  on  the  subject  of  this  examination.  She  had  heard 
Charlie  speak  of  men  being  plucked  for  their  ‘‘little  go,” 
which  she  knew  meant  failure  to  pass  an  examination  of 
some  sort,  and  her  confidence  in  her  brother’s  riding  was 
considerably  greater  than  that  she  reposed  in  his  reading. 
As  for  Mrs.  Connop,  she  felt  quite  confident  of  her 
favourite  nephew’s  ability  to  do  anything  in  that  way. 
Had  he  not  gone  through  a course  of  University  training  ? 
and  was  it  likely  that  an  examination  for  the  army  could 
have  any  terrors  for  a man  who  had  undergone  such  a 
training  ? But  she,  too,  had  her  misgivings  ; it  is  often 
the  case,  we  attain  what  we  ardently  desire,  and  are 
immediately  afflicted  with  doubts  as  to  whether,  after  all, 
we  were  not,  perhaps,  better  without  it.  Charlie,  she 


ENTERED  FOR  THE  ARMY. 


II3 

knew,  although  she  knew  it  very  partially,  had  developed 
a faculty  for  getting  into  money  troubles  at  the  University, 
and  her  experience  told  her  that  equal  facility  and  greater 
temptation  existed  for  indulging  this  infirmity  in  the  army. 
And  it  did  occur  to  Mrs.  Connop,  even  in  this  hour  of 
triumph,  that  his  outfit  might  not  be  the  only  demand 
that  would  be  made  upon  her  purse  strings. 

But  Lettie  hastened  to  reply  to  Gilbert  Slade’s  letter, 
and  thank  him  for  the  trouble  he  had  taken  in  her  brother’s 
behalf.  “ Indeed,  Mr.  Slade,”  she  said,  “ it  has  been  very 
good  of  you  to  take  all  this  trouble  in  Charlie’s  behalf. 
And  I have  no  doubt  that  it  was  mainly  thanks  to  the 
cunning  hints  he  received  from  you  which  enabled  him  to 
make  himself  acceptable  to  Major  Braddock,  to  whom  also 
we  feel  very  indebted  about  the  whole  business.  The  idea 
of  his  being  in  the  same  regiment  with  yourself  is  delightful, 
because  I am  sure  that  you  will  put  him  in  the  way  of 
things  ; and,  though  I Imve  no  fear  of  his  soon  making  his 
way,  yet  the  life  will  be  strange  to  him  at  first,  as  he  has 
had  no  experience  of  the  ways  of  military  men.  As  for 
passing,  he  writes  very  confidently,  and  vows  * that  he 
shall  pull  through,  though  it  may  be  with  a fall  or  two ; ’ 
and  as  I know  he  is  very  much  in  earnest  about  obtaining 
his  commission,  I believe  him.  Once  more,  Mr.  Slade,  I 
must  say  that  I don't  know  how  to  tell  you  how  grateful 
we  feel  to  you.  You  must  come  down  and  see  Pole  Star 
win  at  Lincoln  ; and  then,  perhaps,  we  may  induce  you  to 
come  on  to  North  Leach,  and  have  a few  days’  hunting  in 
the  Wolds.  With  kind  regards  to  Auntie, 

Yours  most  sincerely, 

“ Lettie  Devereux.” 

Gilbert  conceived  this  letter  required  acknowledgment, 
and  wrote  a courteous  reply,  in  which  he  expressed  his 
hope  of  assisting  at  Pole  Star’s  expected  triumph  in  the 
autumn ; and  further  requesting  that  he  might  be  informed 
as  speedily  as  possible  of  the  result  of  the  fray  between 
Charlie  and  his  torturers ; but  Miss  Devereux  made  no 
further  sign,  and  it  was  not  till  the  end  of  September  that 
be  received  a letter  from  Charlie  himself ; — 


114 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


“ Dear  Slade,”  he  began,  “ I have  gone  through  my 
ordeal,  and,  although  not  formally  apprised  of  it,  feel  sure 
that  I have  passed.  They  have  put  me  on  in  about  the 
easiest  chapter  of  all  Caesar’s  Commentaries,  the  one  about 
which,  if  you  know  anything  about  Latin  at  all,  you  couldn’t 
go  wrong  in.  Then  they  asked  me  if  I would  take  up 
French,  and,  being  excessively  shy  concerning  my  know- 
ledge of  that  language,  I said,  ‘ No,  thank  you.’  I was 
only  compelled  to  take  up  one,  you  know,  and  felt  sure 
I’d  pull  through  in  Latin.  The  whole  examination,  as  it 
stands  at  present,  is  a farce,  and  one  which  no  ordinary 
schoolboy  could  possibly  be  spun  over,  with  one  exception. 
Old  Bridge  Hall,  who  examines  in  history,  has  collected  a 
bundle  of  very  dry  facts,  thickly  studded  with  dates,  which 
he  has  published.  He  examines  you  chiefly  out  of  his  own 
book,  and  dates  are  his  hobby.  Of  this  I luckily  got  a 
hint,  so  just  struggled  hard  at  his  chronological  table  for 
six  weeks ; deuced  lucky  I did  so,  for  the  bigger  half  of 
my  questions  were  of  that  nature.  I answered  them  like 
the  well-crammed  gosling  I was,  and  have  very  little  doubt 
that  I shall  have  totally  forgotten  all  about  them  ere  six 
months  are  over  my  head.  Never  mind  ! they  have  served 
my  turn,  and  I shall  hope  to  be  with  you  at  York  this 
winter,  and  have  a good  time  with  the  York  and  Ainsty. 
Good-bye,  and  no  end  of  thanks  for  all  you  have  ever  done 
for  me.  « Ever  yours, 

“ Charlie  Devereux.” 

Army  examinations,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  were  quite 
in  their  infancy  when  Mr.  Devereux  passed  so  triumphantly 
through  the  ordeal.  They  have  become  competitive  since, 
and  assumed  a very  different  complexion ; education,  in- 
deed, seems  highly  necessary  for  anything  except  as  a 
qualification  for  the  electorate. 


DEAREST  FRIENDS  "MAY"  DIFFER. 


1x5 


XVI. — Dearest  Friends  “May"  Differ. 

IT  was  not  till  the  very  last  week  of  her  London  visit 
that  Lettie  received  Slade’s  letter  containing  the  news 
of  Charlie’s  nomination,  and  it  was  only  when  she  wrote 
to  Kate  Kynaston,  proposing  to  call  and  say  “ good-bye," 
that  lady  learnt  the  fact  that  in  the  event  of  success  young 
Devereux  was  to  be  gazetted  to  Gilbert’s  regiment.  If 
she  had  not  been  satisfied  with  Mr.  Slade’s  interference  in 
the  matter  before,  her  anger  about  it  now  was  tolerably 
pronounced.  She  was  not  going  to  be  out-manoeuvred  by 
a chit  of  a country  girl  like  that  if  she  knew  it ; and  she 
persistently  regarded  Gilbert  as  having  fallen  captive, 
metaphorically  speaking,  to  her  own  spear.  She  was  not 
likely  to  submit  to  having  the  spoils  of  the  chase  wrested 
from  her  in  this  fashion.  Charlie  in  the  same  regiment, 
and  naturally,  at  his  sister’s  bidding,  perpetually  bringing 
Mr.  Slade  with  him  to  North  Leach  ! Had  Mrs.  Kynaston 
been  on  the  Board  of  Examiners  I would  not  have  given 
much  for  Mr.  Devereux’s  chance  of  passing,  nor  had  she 
been  colonel  of  the  regiment  do  I think  much  leave  would 
have  been  accorded  to  him  just  at  present.  On  one  point 
that  lady  was  more  resolute  than  ever — that  though  he 
might  escape  from  her  thrall,  Gilbert  should  never  be 
husband  to  Lettice  Devereux. 

But  outwardly  her  brow  was  as  smooth  as  of  yore,  and 
her  congratulations  to  Lettie  on  paper  apparently  warm 
and  sincere.  Women,  when  the  quarrel  is  d Voutrance^ 
know  better  than  to  betray  themselves ; they  bide  their 
time,  but  when  that  comes  don’t  think  they  will  spare  fheir 
hand,  or  fail  to  send  the  steel  home  to  its  bitterest  length. 
She  turned  over  in  her  mind  how  this  union  might  be 
prevented ; there  was  plenty  of  time — it  was  a thing  that 
might  never  come  about,  and  even  should  she  learn  that 
the  pair  were  engaged,  it  was  very  possible,  thought  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  to  arrange  a slip  ’twixt  that  cup  and  lip.  Mar- 
riages may  be  made  in  heaven,  perhaps,  but  that  they  are 
frequently  ruptured  on  earth,  both  in  the  egg  and  when 
full-grown,  we  have  much  demonstration  of,  and  hpw  often 


ii6 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


woman’s  jealousy  or  man’s  frailty  contributes  to  such  sad 
ending  what  philosopher  shall  determine?  But  I fancy 
the  former  has  shattered  as  much  matrimonial  happiness 
as  can  be  attributed  to  any  enemy  of  Hymen. 

Suddenly  it  flashed  vaguely  before  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  mind 
that  this  new  protege  of  her  husband — Mr.  Furzedon — 
might  be  a useful  card  in  her  hand  in  the  game  she  con' 
templated  playing.  She  had  read  that  gentleman’s  char- 
acter pretty  correctly,  considering  the  little  she  had  seer 
of  him.  She  knew  that  he  was  selfish,  had  a strong 
suspicion  that  he  was  niggardly,  but  she  further  knew  for 
certain  that  his  great  ambition  was  to  attain  some  social 
status  in  the  great  London  world.  He  admired  Miss 
Devereux — that  was  a fact  patent  to  any  one  gifted  with 
the  power  of  perception — but  Mr.  Furzedon  was  not  a man 
likely  to  marry,  except  deliberately,  and  in  furtherance  of 
the  line  he  had  chalked  out  for  himself. 

‘‘  It  would  not  be  such  a hard  thing,”  mused  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  “ to  make  Furzedon  anxious  to  marry  Lettie 
Devereux.  Her  brother  getting  into  a crack  Dragoon 
regiment  is  one  step  towards  it ! Let  Mr.  Furzedon  only 
be  persuaded  that  Miss  Devereux  is  an  acknowledged 
beauty,  whose  face  is  a passport  to  fashion’s  portals,  and 
he  will  be  keen  -enough  to  woo  her.  He  would  prefer  a 
wife  with  money,  perhaps — with  a handle  to  her  name, 
undoubtedly — but  he  is  far  too  shrewd  a judge  not  to  know 
that  a man  with  no  antecedents  and  only  a moderate  com- 
mand of  money  cannot  expect  the  pick  of  the  matrimonial 
market.  Yes,”  continued  Mrs.  Kynaston,  still  following 
up  the  same  train  of  thought,  “ it  is  quite  possible  that  Mr. 
Furzedon  may  be  a very  useful  card  to  me  in  future.  I 
don’t  like  the  man  myself,  nor  do  I suppose  Dick  does 
either,  for,  to  do  him  justice,  although  necessity  compels 
him  to  know  very  electro-plated  gentlemen  at  times,  poor 
old  Dick  thoroughly  understands  good  form  when  he  meets 
it.  I usually  obey  my  lord  and  master,  and  for  once  his 
wishes  and  mine  conform.  He  has  his  reasons  for  wishing 
me  to  be  civil  to  Mr.  Furzedon  ; I also  have  mine.  That 
slightly  underbred  young  man  promises  to  be  rather  a tame 
qat  about  our  establishment and  then  Mrs.  Kynaston, 


DEAREST  FRIENDS  “MAY'’  DIFFER. 


ii; 


glancing  at  the  clock,  muttered  softly  to  herself  “ Lettie, 
my  dear,  it  is  time  you  made  your  appearance.  How 
pleased  I shall  be  to  see  you  ! How  sad  I shall  be  that  we 
are  about  to  part  I And  how  sad,  my  love,  I am  at  the 
thought  that  I cannot  bite  you !” 

She  had  not  to  wait  long.  A few  minutes  more  and  Miss 
Devereux  was  announced,  and  Mrs.  Kynaston  rose  and 
received  her  with  the  greatest  effusion. 

“ I’m  rather  late,  I know,”  said  Lettie,  as  she  sank  into 
an  easy  chair,  “ but  there  is  always  so  much  to  do  the  last 
few  days  ; people  whom  one  has  almost  forgot  have  to  be 
called  on,  and  people  whom  you  had  hoped  had  forgot  all 
about  you  suddenly  turn  up,  and  pay  visits  of  unwarrant- 
able length  and  never-to-be-forgotten  dreariness.  I don’t 
know  how  it  is,  but  these  latter  people  always  circumvent 
the  servants  ; your  dearest  friends  may  be  turned  away 
from  the  door,  but,  whatever  the  instructions,  these  people 
invariably  at  least  gain  the  drawing-room,  and  you  are 
very  lucky  if  they  don’t  catch  you  in  it.” 

“ Yes,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston,  gaily,  “ few  people  possess 
such  a treasure  as  Staples.  He  was  with  the  Major  before 
I married.  He  is  a little  brusque  in  his  manner,  I grant, 
but  he  has  almost  an  unerring  instinct  of  whom  to  let  in 
and  whom  to  keep  out.  He  has  a capital  memory,  and 
the  slightest  hint  suffices  him.  Dick  always  says,  in  joke, 
that  there  are  times  when  Staples  will  say  ‘Not  at  home  ’ 
to  him,  and  that  nothing  but  his  latchkey  makes  admission 
to  his  own  house  a certainty.  Undoubtedly  Staples  is  a 
very  superior  watchdog.  As  for  the  importunate  creditor — 
don’t  looked  shocked,  Lettie,  half  the  West  End  of  London 
are  troubled  in  this  wise — Staples  recognises  them,  I verily 
believe,  by  their  knock,  let  them  play  such  salvo  as  they 
will  upon  our  door  ; while  the  vagueness  of  his  knowledge 
as  to  whether  Major  Kynaston  is  in  town,  or  ever  will  be 
in  town  again,  is  simply  unsurpassable.” 

“ An  invaluable  man.  Staples,”  rejoined  Lettie,  “ I must 
consider  myself  fortunate  to  be  in  his  good  graces.” 

“ Oh,  yes ; he  knows  you,  and  that  you  are  one  of  the 
privileged,  but  I haven’t  congratulated  you.  I am  so 
pleased  about  Charlie,  and  how  very  nice  it  is  that  be 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


should  have  got  into  Mr,  Slade’s  regiment.  It  will  be 
especially  nice  for  you,  my  dear  1”  continued  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
archly. 

“ Why  so  ?”  asked  Lettie. 

“ Oh,  I don’t  know,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  carelessly, 
Still,  it’s  always  convenient  to  have  one’s  brothers  and 
admirers  in  the  same  bundle.  When  you  want  a few  young 
men  for  a ball  you  will  always  be  able  to  write  to  Charlie 
to  come,  and  bring  two  or  three  brother  officers  with  him. 
And  if  you  haven’t,  after  the  first  twelve  months,  taught 
him  whom  to  bring,  then  you  deserve  to  die  an  old  maid.” 
‘‘  How  can  you  say  such  things  ?”  cried  Lettie,  hotly. 
“ My  brothers  have  always  been  accustomed  to  bring  such 
friends  as  they  like  to  North  Leach^  and  it  is  not  likely 
that  Charlie,  when  he  becomes  a Dragoon,  that  he  will 
renounce  that  privilege — why  should  he  ? And  why  should 
not  one  of  those  friends  be  Mr.  Slade  ? He,  at  all  events, 
has  a strong  claim  on  our  hospitality,  if  only  for  the  ser- 
vice he  has  just  rendered  us.” 

“ Quite  so,  my  dear,”  assented  the  other  speaker.  “ Men 
have  done  more  than  that  for  the  love  of  ces  beaux  yeuxy 
and  received  far  less  guerdon  than,  I prophesy,  will  be  Mr. 
Slade’s  lot  Now,  don’t  get  angry,  Lettice,  but,  bear  in 
mind,  these  soldiers  are  arrant  flirts — they  woo,  and  they 
ride  away.  Don’t  let  your  heart  out  of  }^our  keeping  till 
the  engagement  ring  is  on  your  finger.” 

“ What  nonsense  you  are  talking,”  rejoined  Lettie,  petu- 
lantly. “ Mr.  Slade  has  undeniably  been  very  kind  in  this 
business  to  Charlie.  I presume  I may  feel  grateful  to  him 
without  having  the  slightest  ulterior  thought  ? ” 

Of  course  you  may,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  a 
sarcastic  little  smile ; “ but  you  wouldn’t  be  a woman  if 
you  hadn’t  one.  What  do  you  suppose  made  Mr.  Slade 
take  such  interest  in  a young  gentleman  he  had  never  even 
seen  ? Pooh  ! Lettie,  don’t  juggle  with  facts ; nor  attempt 
to  hoodwink  a woman  of  the  world  like  me.  If  it  was  not 
from  admiration  of  yourself,  I would  simply  know  why  did 
he  trouble  his  head  about  Charlie  ? ” 

Lettie  flushed,  and  felt  very  uncomfortable  under  the 
merciless  raillery  of  her  hostess.  She  most  devoutly  wished 


©BAREST  FRIENDS  "MAY*'  DIFFER. 


II9 

herself  well  out  of  Chester  Street,  and  that  she  had  never 
come  to  bid  Mrs.  Kynaston  good-bye.  She  was  quite  con- 
scious that  there  was  a good  deal  of  truth  in  what  her 
hostess  had  said.  She  was  not  yet  quite  in  love  with  Gil- 
bert Slade ; but  she  did  not  disguise  from  herself  that  she 
was  in  a very  fair  way  to  become  so.  And  all  these  semi- 
jeering  remarks  of  Mrs.  Kynaston's  stung  like  so  many  pin- 
pricks ; but,  sharp  as  the  stab  may  be,  no  Indian  brave 
ever  stands  torture  with  more  assumed  indifference  than  a 
woman  in  society  endures  the  jibes  of  her  sisters. 

I can  hardly  answer  that  question,”  Miss  Devereux 
replied  at  length.  My  experience,  of  course,  does  not  go 
so  far  as  yours  by  some  years,  but  I have  known  people  do 
kindly  actions  without  seeking  much  gain  for  themselves. 
You  know  best ; but  don’t  you  think  it  would  be  rather  a 
dreary  world  if  we  never  did  our  neighbour  a good  turn 
without  calculation  ? Surely,  Kate,  you  don't  look  to  be 
paid  in  kind  for  every  small  assistance  you  may  render 
your  fellow-creatures  in  this  world  ? ” 

“ I usually  am,”  replied  that  lady,  with  asperity.  “ ‘ As 
we  sow,  so  shall  we  reap,’  so  say  the  Scriptures — a truth 
that  knowledge  of  the  world  tells  me  may  be  read  in  very 
different  lights.  The  kindnesses  you  have  sown  generally 
produce  but  a crop  of  ingratitude.  Be  a good  friend  to  a 
man,  and  he  drops  you  for  the  first  face  that  catches  his 
fancy  ; be  a good  friend  to  a woman,  and  she  devotdfe 
every  art  she  possesses  to  steal  from  you  your  lover  or 
your  husband.  Don’t  look  so  * mazed,’  Lettie  ! You  were 
kind  enough  to  remind  me  of  my  many  years’  additional 
experience,  and  that  is  the  outcome  of  them.” 

If  Miss  Devereux  was  young,  she  was  no  fool : she  was 
vaguely  conscious  that  some  jealousy  concerning  Gilbert 
Slade  was  at  the  bottom  of  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  bitterness ; 
but  she  had  never  grasped,  nor  was  it  likely  she  ever  would, 
that  that  lady  had  considered  the  Hussar  her  own  peculiar 
property,  and,  as  has  been  said  before,  this  was  a conclu- 
sion on  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  part  that  circumstances  by  no 
means  warranted. 

There  is  no  helping  these  things,  men  go  on  telling 
stories  till  they  arrive  at  the  belief  that  they  were  bona  Jidc 


120 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


the  heroes  of  them.  Men  regard  property  that  may  come 
to  them  very  often  as  property  that  must  come  to  them, 
and  eventually  as  property  that  actually  belongs  to  them. 
When  the  holder  dies,  and  his  will  announces  that  the  late 
proprietor  has  taken  a diflferent  view  of  things,  such  men 
are  simply  crushed  with  a sense  of  injustice,  and  that  they 
have  been  the  victims  of  heartless  robbery 

‘‘  I don’t  know  what  makes  you  speak  so  bitterly  to-day, 
but  I suppose  you  are  in  low  spirits,  something  has  gone 
wrong  perhaps,  and  then,  v/e  all  know,  life  looks  none  so 
rosy.  I can’t  plead  guilty  to  knowing  much  about  that 
sort  of  thing ; but  even  a school-girl  has  occasional  fits  of 
depression  : her  music  gets  the  best  of  her,  or  she’s  baulked 
in  some  expected  pleasure.  I thought  you  would  be  so 
glad  to  hear  of  Charlie’s  good  fortune.” 

**  So  I am,  of  course  ; haven’t  I told  you  so  ? And  how 
nice  you  will  find  it  having  him  in  a crack  Hussar  regiment. 

Miss  Devereux  did  not  reply  immediately — there  is  more 
than  one  way  of  offering  congratulations,  and  Lettie  was 
quite  conscious  that  there  was  a flavour  of  hyssop  about 
those  of  Mrs.  Kynaston.  **  Well,  good-bye,”  she  said, 
rising ; I do  hope  you  will  think  better  of  it,  and  take 
‘ The  Firs  * again  for  next  season.  We  shall  miss  you  and 
the  Major  sadly  as  neighbours;  and  remember  that  the 
advantages  which  you  have  just  said  will  accrue  to  me 
from  Charlie’s  commission  will  also  tend  to  make  our  few 
balls  still  more  lively  for  you ; in  short,”  concluded  Lettie, 
with  a laugh,  ‘‘  if  we  can  muster  a few  young  men  at  North 
Leach,  it  is  good  for  the  whole  neighbourhood  in  that  way.” 
“ Good-bye,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston  as  she  shook  hands 
with  her  again.  “ I don’t  know  at  all  as  yet  if  ‘ The  Firs  ’ 
is  destined  to  be  our  winter  quarters  this  year.  One  piece 
of  advice,  my  dear,  at  parting:  don’t  be  too  philanthropic, 
nor  too  ready  to  part  with  the  partners  your  brother  has 
delivered  into  your  hand.  You  are  very  pretty,  Lettie ; 
but  men  are  very  fanciful,  and  let  the  bell-wether  take  up 
with  a Gorgon,  and  the  rest  of  them  are  struggling  madly 
to  secure  her  hand  for  the  next  dance.” 

Miss  Devereux  made  no  response.  She  was^  indeed, 
only  too  glad  to  bring  her  visit  to  a termination.  She 


BELLATON  WOLU 


121 


was  quite  conscious  that  their  conversation,  though  nomi- 
nally friendly,  had  been  “ on  the  jar  ” throughout,  and  that 
Mrs.  Kynaston’s  congratulations  had  been  very  far  from 
cordial ; she  did  not  understand  it.  She  had  thought  that 
lady  really  fond  of  them  all,  and  that  she  would  have  been 
delighted  at  hearing  of  Charlie’s  good  fortune.  But  she 
felt  quite  sure  that  there  was  something  in  his  appoint- 
ment to  the  — th  Hussars  that  did  not  meet  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton’s approval.  Then  as  Miss  Devereux  drove  back  to 
Onslow  Gardens  her  thoughts  reverted  to  Mrs.  Kynaston’s 
innuendo  that  when  Charlie  had  joined  his  regiment  there 
would  be  much  facility  for  asking  Mr.  Slade  to  come  down 
with  him  to  North  Leach.  She  wondered  if  Mr.  Slade 
would  care  to  pay  such  a visit.  She  wondered  a little  as 
to  whether  he  cared  for  her.  She  had  good  evidence  that 
he  had  not  forgotten  her,  or  he  would  hardly  have  taken  all 
this  trouble  in  Charlie’s  behalf.  “ Ah,”  thought  Lettie, 
“ how  jolly  it  would  be  if  Pole  Star  should  win  at  Lincoln, 
and  they  all  come  back  to  North  Leach  to  have  two  or 
three  days’  hunting,  and  celebrate  his  triumph.”  And  in 
they  I fancy  Mr.  Gilbert  Slade  was  emphatically  included. 


HE  wind  whistled  shrill  across  the  Yorkshire  Wolds 


this  March  evening,  but  at  that  time  of  night  there 
were  few  wayfarers  about  to  suffer  from  that  bleakness. 
Here  and  there  a belated  shepherd  might  have  been  seen 
hurrying  to  some  hamlet  nestling  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  or 
some  stalwart  farmer  making  a short  cut  to  the  snug  house 
that  called  him  master.  A little  distance  below  a species 
of  plateau,  well  known  as  a famous  training-ground,  stood 
a many-gabled,  well-thatched  farmhouse.  It  was  about 
the  ordinary -sized  dwelling  that  a well-to-do  yeoman,  who 
cultivated  his  own  land,  might  be  supposed  to  inhabit. 
By  no  means  a large  house  or  a house  of  any  pretence, 
remarkable  only  for  one  thing,  the  rather  extensive  range 


XVII. — Bellaton  Wold, 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


of  stabling  that  stood  around  it.  There  was  accommoda- 
tion for  many  more  horses  than  the  tiller  of  such  a farm  as 
might  be  supposed  attached  to  the  dwelling  would  require. 
A bright  light  penetrated  through  the  chinks  of  the  shutters 
of  a latticed  window  on  the  ground-floor  and  suggested  the 
idea  of  warmth  and  a comfortable  fireside  within.  Using 
our  privileges  of  Asmodeus,  we  peep  inside  the  parlour  and 
see  two  men  seated  on  either  side  of  the  glowing  hearth, 
with  a table  well  supplied  with  spirits  and  water.  Alas ! 
too  well  supplied  for  one  of  them. 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Slade,  I’ve  been  main  bad.  I can’t  stand  the 
winters  as  I used  to  do,  and  the  gout  lays  hold  of  me  ter- 
rible now  at  times.” 

The  speaker  was  a little  dark,  very  dark,  wiry  man,  with 
eyes  like  gimlets,  whose  countenance  bore  the  traces  of 
recent  indisposition. 

“You  ought  to  be  a bit  more  careful,”  replied  Norman 
Slade.  “ It’s  no  use.  Bill,  the  old  ’uns  can’t  live  with  the 
young  ones ; you  can’t  expect  to  take  your  liquor  freely 
overnight  and  turn  out  to  ride  trials  in  the  keen  morning 
air,  now  you’ve  got  within  the  forties,  without  feeling  it.” 

“ Now  don’t  you  preach,  Mr.  Slade,”  rejoined  Bill 
Smith,  testily.  “ I should  like  to  know  what  a man’s  to 
do  when  he  can’t  get  about  to  look  after  his  horses.  He 
must  take  a drop  to  comfort  him ; horses  indeed  1 such  a - 
lot  as  they  are  too.  I don’t  believe  there’s  one  of  them 
worth  a row  of  gingerbread.  I tried  my  two-year-olds 
last  October,  and  a pretty  moderate  lot  they  are.  No 
chance  of  their  doing  any  good  as  three-year-olds.” 

“ You  will  have  to  get  rid  of  them  in  selling-races,” 
rejoined  Slade,  flipping  the  ash  off  his  cigar.  “ I suppose 
they’re  good  enough  to  do  you  a turn  there.” 

“ Well,  I should  hope  so,”  growled  the  other,  as  he  took 
a gulp  of  a mahogany-coloured  mixture  which  no  doctor 
would  have  dreamt  of  recommending  for  gout ; “ however, 

I shall  be  about  again  in  a few  days  now,  and  then  I must 
put  ’em  through  the  mill  again  and  see  what  they’re  really 
fit  for.” 

Bill  Smith’s  was  a common  enough  case:  a man  who 
now  passed  a good  deal  of  his  time  between  drinking-bouts 


BELLATON  WOLD. 


«3 

and  severe  attacks  of  the  gout.  One  of  the  finest  horse- 
men in  England,  he  had  at  an  early  age  established  him- 
self as  one  of  the  crack  jockeys  of  the  day.  Formidable 
at  Epsom,  invincible  at  Doncaster,  and  dangerous  any- 
where,” had  been  the  comment  on  his  riding,  only  a few 
years  back,  by  one  of  the  shrewdest  judges  of  racing  on 
the  turf. 

Cast  by  nature  in  a light  mould,  he  was  exempt  from  a 
great  deal  of  the  abstinence  and  privation  that  forms  so 
prominent  a part  of  a jockey’s  life.  Always  a free  liver, 
and  of  a convivial  disposition,  he  had  latterly  allowed  his 
craving  for  strong  waters  to  get  the  upper  hand  of  him. 
It  began  to  be  whispered  about  that  “ Black  Bill,”  as  he 
was  called  by  his  brother  jockeys,  was  very  often  “ half- 
cocked  ” when  he  got  up  to  ride.  It  was  some  time  before 
the  fact  became  generally  recognized.  A man  could  ride 
as  well  half-drunk  as  sober,  save  in  one  respect ; and  it  is 
just  that  which  invariably  cuts  short  the  career  of  a jockey 
who  takes  to  drinking,  namely,  that  in  the  critical  moments 
of  a race  he  lost  his  head.  Instead  of  taking  advantage  of 
every  point  in  the  game,  he  failed  to  note  what  his  anta- 
gonists were  doing  ; he  got  muddled ; he  timed  his  rush 
either  too  soon  or  too  late.  That  deadly  rush  of  his,  for 
which  he  had  once  been  so  famous,  and  which  had  snatched 
so  many  races  out  of  the  fire  on  the  very  post,  was  now 
wont  to  be  delivered  at  the  wrong  time.  He  who  had  been 
wont  to  measure  his  supreme  effort  to  the  very  stride,  now 
either  won  his  race  two  lengths  before  the  chair,  or  perr, 
haps  the  same  distance  the  other  side  of  it ; but  he  failed 
to  win  at  the  winning-post.  Gradually  his  riding  fell  awa;^ 
from  him ; owners  naturally  ceased  to  employ  a jockey 
upon  whose  sobriety  there  w^as  no  dependence.  The  same 
pitiless  authority  whom  we  have  quoted  above  as  giving 
such  a laudatory  opinion  of  Bill  Smith’s  riding,  now  said 
**  that  he  threw  away  more  races  than  any  man  in  Eng- 
land.” The  great  stable  of  the  North,  which  had  held 
first  claim  on  his  services  for  many  years,  had  now  with- 
drawn its  patronage ; and  the  world  generally  frowned 
upon  the  once-famous  jockey.  Still,  every  now  and  then 
he  astonished  the  turfites  by  a bit  of  brilliant  riding  worthy 


tu 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


of  his  best  days.  It  was  evident  that  his  right  hand  had 
not  lost  its  cunning,  nor  his  nerve  failed  him  ; and  that  if 
only  he  could  keep  from  drink  the  man  was  as  fine  a horse- 
man as  evef.  Ah  I the  infinite  conjectural  probabilities  of 
those  “ ifs  ! ” 

Bill  Smith  took  the  neglect  of  his  old  patrons  bitterly. 
That  he  had  lost  the  greater  part  of  his  business  soured  the 
man.  True,  it  was  from  his  own  fault ; and  in  his  own  breast 
he  most  likely  acknowledged  that  it  was  so  ; but  it  rarely 
happens  that  upon  these  occasions  a man  does  not  put  his 
own  sins  upon  other  people,  and  think  all  the  more  hardly 
of  them  on  that  account.  In  his  palmy  days,  too.  Bill 
Smith  had  been  arrogant  and  coarse  of  speech  to  most  of 
the  turf  officials  with  whom  he  came  in  contact ; a bully 
amongst  the  younger  jockeys  and  a very  unscrupulous 
rider,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  amongst  those  of  his  own 
standing.  A man  like  this  has  not  many  friends  when  the 
tide  turns  against  him ; and,  though  his  brethren  of  the 
saddle  were  chary  yet  of  provoking  the  rough  side  of 
‘‘  Black  Bill's  " tongue,  they  made  no  disguise  of  their 
satisfaction  when  he  throw  a race  away  in  consequence  of 
his  besetting  failing.  Two  of  his  old  friends  they  were  who 
stood  staunchly  to  him,  in  spite  of  his  transgressions  ; and 
these  were  Norman  Slade  and  Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe. 

I can’t  quarrel  with  the  old  fellow,  Norman,”  Sir 
Ronald  had  observed  after  one  of  Bill  Smith’s  later  fiascos. 
‘'He’s  put  me  in  for  too  many  good  things  in  his  time  for 
that,  but  I’ll  back  him  no  more.  He  simply  threw  that 
last  race  away  by  coming  too  late.” 

It  would  have  been  well  for  Sir  Ronald  if  he  had  adhered 
firmly  to  that  resolution. 

“ Well,”  said  Slade,  after  a pause  of  some  minutes, 
“ very  little  sleep  does  for  me  as  a rule,  but  I feel  tired  to- 
night, and,  as  you  know,  when  in  the  country  am  always 
an  early  man  in  the  morning.  I think  I’ll  be  off  to  bed. 
Shall  you  be  out  with  the  horses  to-morrow  morning  ?” 

“ No,”  returned  the  jockey.  “ I’m  not  rid  of  this  con- 
founded gout  yet,  and  I am  especially  ordered  to  be  careful 
about  taking  cold.  You  had  better  wrap  well  up,  for  you’ll 
find  the  air  confounded  keen  on  the  Wolds.”  " 


BELLATON  WOLD.  12$ 

I know  all  about  it,”  rejoined  Slade*  **  I suppose  I 
shall  find  Torn  Parrott  in  charge  ?” 

Yes,  he  is  a right  good  lad  is  Tom.  I don't  know  how 
I shall  get  on  without  him,  for  I’ve  been  able  to  look  after 
the  horses  very  little  all  this  winter.  Sure  you  won’t  have 
anything  more  before  you  go  ?” 

“ No  ; good  night,”  rejoined  Slade,  as  he  picked  up  a 
hand-candlestick  off  the  sideboard,  “ and  I hope  the  enemy 
will  let  you  sleep  to-night.  When  you  come  down  to 
breakfast  I shall  be  able  to  tell  you  what  I think  of  the 
three-year  olds.” 

Bill  Smith  replied  with  a grimace,  and  turning  to  the  fire 
observed  as  Norman  left  the  room,  “ There’s  mighty  cold 
comfort  in  that.” 

A little  before  eight  the  next  morning  saw  Norman  Slade 
attired  in  breeches,  gaiters,  stout  shooting  boots,  and 
shooting-jacket,  plodding  up  the  winding  road  that  led  to 
the  plateau.  There,  walking  up  and  down,  clothed  in  their 
rugs,  were  some  half-score  horses  bestrode  by  stable-boys, 
the  whole  evidently  under  the  control  of  a little  man  riding 
a clever-looking  pony,  and,  though  he  was  every  day  of 
five-and-thirty,  was  perhaps  better  known  by  the  sobriquet 
of  Bill  Smith’s  head  lad  than  by  his  legitimate  appellation 
of  Tom  Parrott.  The  string,  with  one  or  two  exceptions, 
were  the  property  of  Bill  Smith  himself,  for  few  people 
cared  to  intrust  the  preparation  of  their  horses  to  a man 
with  Bill’s  unfortunate  reputation.  If  he  could  not  curb 
his  propensity  for  strong  waters  when  such  urgent  call 
upon  his  faculties  was  demanded  as  on  the  racecourse, 
was  it  likely  that  he  would  put  any  check  upon  himself  on 
the  training-ground  ? and  the  Turf,  like  all  other  profes- 
sions, requires  sobriety  among  its  votaries. 

Tom  Parrott  cantered  briskly  towards  Norman  the  minute 
he  saw  him'  striding  across  the  grand  expanse  of  springy 
turf.  It  was  not  that  he  was  going  to  do  anything  that  all 
the  world  might  not  have  seen,  but  he  had  all  the  instinc- 
tive jealousy  of  some  trainers  at  finding  his  charges  watched 
in  their  work. 

‘‘  Mr.  Slade  I”  he  exclaimed,  as  he  recognised  his  visitor* 
Plamed  if  I didn’t  think  it  was  one  of  those  woudy  toutSf 


126 


SADDLE  AND  SABRR 


Not,  I am  sorry  to  say,  that  we  have  anything  worth  their 
spying  about,  but  I can’t  abide  the  varmin.” 

“ Glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well,  Tom,”  rejoined  Nor- 
man. “ No,  Mr.  Smith  told  me  last  night  that  you  had 
nothing  in  the  string  that  you  had  any  hopes  of.  ’Tis  so, 
sometimes,  the  stable  gets  clean  out  of  form,  and  hasn’t  a 
horse  in  training  good  enough  to  win  a saddle  and  bridle 
next  year.  Luck  changes,  and  you  sweep  the  board. 
What  work  are  you  going  to  give  ’em  this  morning  ?” 

‘‘  Well,  they’ll  do  a little  slow  cantering,  and  then  old 
Knight-ojf-the- Whistle  will  lead  the  three-year-olds  a smart 
mile  spin.  It’s  time  to  get  on  with  them,  you  see,  Mr. 
Slade ; if  they’re  ever  to  addle  their  keep,  they  ought  to 
begin  at  the  Newmarket  Spring  Meetings.” 

“Just  so,”  said  Norman.  “You  use  the  old  gallop,  I 
suppose  ? I shall  go  and  stand  about  half  up  the  rise  at 
the  finish,  and  then  I shall  see  them  well  extended.” 

“ Can’t  do  better,  sir,”  replied  Parrott ; and,  turning  his 
pony  short  round,  he  cantered  back  to  his  charges. 

Slade  made  his  way  to  the  coign  of  vantage  he  had 
mentioned,  unshipped  his  glasses,  and  gazed  lazily  at  the 
horses,  as  on  the  other  side  of  the  down  they  went  through 
some  slow  exercise.  Presently  he  saw  four  of  them  walk 
quietly  down  to  the  mile-post,  and  knew  that  he  was  about 
to  see  the  cream  of  Bill  Smith’s  lot  gallop.  There  was  no 
keener  race-goer  than  Norman  Slade.  No  man  more 
thoroughly  loved  racing  for  sheer  sport ; he  could  be  as 
deeply  interested  in  the  issue  of  a trial  on  those  Yorkshire 
Wolds  as  on  the  result  of  the  Derby  ; but  still,  it  was  with 
languid  curiosity  he  awaited  the  forthcoming  gallop. 
There  could  be  little  interest  in  seeing  a few  notoriously 
bad  horses  scurry  over  their  mile  in  an  exercise-gallop. 
Suddenly  his  attention  was  aroused  ; before  the  quartet 
had  gone  a quarter  of  a mile  he  could  see  that  the  second, 
a slashing  big  brown  colt,  had  got  his  head  up,  and  was 
fighting  with  his  rider.  Another  few  seconds,  and,  drop- 
ping his  head,  he  makes  an  angry  snatch  at  the  bridle, 
bolts  out  of  the  Indian  file  in  which  they  are  galloping, 
tears  past  old  Knight-of-the- Whistle,  and  comes  thunder- 
ing along  the  gallop  by  himseiff 


BELLATON  WOLD. 


127 


Got  clean  away  with  the  lad,”  muttered  Norman,  as 
he  watched  the  boy  throw  himself  right  back  in  his  saddle, 
^ and  strive  in  vain  to  check  his  horse ; “ but  what  on  earth 
does  old  Bill  mean  by  saying  his  three-year-olds  are  no 
good  ? If  that’s  not  a galloper  I never  saw  one.  What  a 
stride  he  has  I and  how  well  under  him  he  biings  his 
quarters  ; now  he  is  really  going.” 

In  vain  the  boy  pulled ; the  big  brown  colt  had  com- 
pletely overpowered  him,  and  was  bent  upon  doing  a 
gallop  entirely  on  his  own  account  that  morning.  Norman 
watched  him  keenly  as  he  swept  past  him,  breasting  the 
slight  ascent  like  a lion,  and  going  a good  quarter  of  a 
mile  past  the  termination  of  the  gallop  before  his  rider 
succeeded  in  pulling  him  up  ; he  did  so  at  last,  and  turned 
his  mount  a little  ruefully  to  walk  back.  ‘‘  It’s  well,”  he 
muttered,  that  Parrott  is  in  charge  this  morning  instead 
of  old  Bill  himself.”  Although  it  is  at  times  impossible  to 
prevent  it,  yet  trainers  look  with  considerable  disfavour  at 
a boy  who  lets  his  horse  get  away  with  him  ; and  with 
a violent-tempered,  coarse-tongued  man  like  Bill  Smith 
such  a mistake  was  met  with  a volley  of  abuse.  By  this 
time  Tom  Parrott  had  joined  Slade,  and,  walking  his 
pony  alongside  of  him,  they  both  proceeded  to  meet  the 
culprit, 

“ Well,  you  young  duffer,”  exclaimed  Parrott,  ‘‘  what 
possessed  you  to  let  him  get  his  head  up  like  that  ? You 
might  have  known  that  he  would  twitch  the  bit  out  of 
your  hands  directly  he  dropped  his  head.  Now  don’t  you 
say  you  couldn’t  help  it.  In  the  first  place,  you  should 
have  helped  it ; and  in  the  second  place,  if  I thought  you 
could  have  helped  it,  you’d  get  your  walking  ticket  this 
afternoon  ; ” with  which  rather  contradictory  rebuke  Mr, 
Parrott  closed  his  lecture. 

“ Stop  a moment,  boy,”  said  Slade,  authoritatively ; 
“I  want  just  to  look  your  horse  over ;”  and  Norman’s 
practised  eye  at  once  took  keen  stock  of  the  colt’s  under- 
standings. 

“ Can’t  see  much  of  him  here,  Tom,  but  I’ll  have  a good 
look  at  him  in  the  stable,  where  you  can  strip  him  for  me  { 
his  legs  look  sound  enough,” 


128 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


“ Oh,  he*s  sound  as  a bell,”  rejoined  Parrott ; “ if  he  was 
only  as  good  as  he  is  sound  he’d  do.” 

“ What  do  you  call  him,  and  how  is  he  bred  ? ” 
“Belisarius,  by  Triumph,  out  of  Darkness,”  rejoined 
Parrott,  laconically. 

‘‘  As  stout  blood  as  any  in  England,”  remarked  Norman  ; 
“and  what’s  more,  Tom,  as  fine  a mover  as  I’ve  seen 
gallop  for  some  time.  Mr.  Smith  told  me  last  night  that 
he  had  tried  all  his  three-year  olds — good  for  nothing.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  brown  colt  was  in  the  trial  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  replied  Parrott,  “ and  well  beaten  off.” 

“ Well,  Tom,”  said  Slade,  “ did  you  see  the  colt  go  this 
morning  ? Can  you  shut  your  eyes  to  that  ? Who  rode 
him  in  the  trial  ? ” 

“ One  of  the  boys,”  replied  Parrott.  “ I forget  at  this 
moment  which,  but  I can  easily  ascertain.” 

“ Do,  Tom,  as  soon  as  you  get  back.  I’ll  lay  pounds  to 
crowns  the  triafs  all  wrong.  I’ll  come  round,  and  have  a 
look  at  Belisarius  in  his  box  after  breakfast.”  And  with 
that  Slade  strode  away  down  the  hill  to  satisfy  the  keen 
appetite  that  a morning  on  the  Wolds  was  wont  to  induce. 
“ It’s  all  nonsense,”  he  said  to  himself  as  he  stepped  smartly 
out  in  the  direction  of  the  farm-house.  “ That  trial  was 
all  wrong.  I’ll  lay  guineas  to  gooseberries;  old  Bill  was 
most  likely  too  ill  to  superintend  it  himself,  and,  at  all 
events,  no  doubt,  never  rode  in  it.  Tom  Parrott’s  a good 
head  boy,  but  putting  horses  together  is  a little  beyond 
him.  If  Bill  had  ridden  in  it  he  would  have  known  what 
every  horse  in  it  was  doing.  As  it  is,  I fancy  Belisarius  is 
a great  big  lazy  colt  that  takes  a deal  of  getting  out.  I 
dgaa’t  suppose  any  of  them  ever  saw  him  gallop  till  this 
morning.  Well,  come.  I’m  going  to  have  a more  amusing 
week  than  I reckoned  on.  I’ve  at  all  events  found  out 
something  to  do.  I’ve  got  to  discover  the  rights  of  that 
trial,  to  induce  Bill  to  try  them  again,  and  also  to  ascertain 
whether  that  big  brown  colt  is  entered  for  any  stakes  worth 
winning.’* 


TRIAL  OF  BELISARIUS. 


lap 


XVIII. — Trial  of  Belisarius. 

S Norman  entered  the  house  his  host  called  out  to  him 


from  the  parlour,  “ Is  that  you,  Mr,  Slade  ? Come 


along  in,  and  we’ll  have  breakfast  up  in  a twinkling.  I 
feel  more  like  myself  this  morning  than  I have  done  for 
some  time  ; the  jaw  with  you  last  night  did  me  good.’* 

“ Glad  to  hear  it,”  replied  Norman.  “ I’ll  just  run  up- 
stairs and  wash  my  hands  and  be  with  you  in  less  than 


No  sooner  had  Slade  entered  his  bedroom  than  he  dashed 
at  once  to  his  portmanteau,  and  eagerly  took  from  it  a 
volume  of  the  Calendar  bearing  the  title  of  “ Races  to 
Come.”  He  turned  over  the  leaves  quickly.  Yes,  there  it 
was,  Belisarius,  by  Triumph,  out  of  Darkness.  It  didn’t 
take  Slade’s  practised  eye  long  to  run  over  the  horse’s  en- 
gagements. “ By  heavens  ! ” he  exclaimed,  “ if  I should 
prove  right,  and  my  opinion  be  confirmed  at  the  subsequent 
trial.  I’ve  discovered  a veritable  gold  mine.  Here’s  a 
three-year  old  entered  for  all  the  big  races  of  the  year 
whose  name  has  never  been  even  whispered  among  racing- 
men,  who  has  never  run,  and  whose  very  owner  looks  upon 
him  as  good  for  nothing.  Now  this  is  real  fun.  If  we 
have  got  hold  of  a flyer,  what  a dressing  we  will  give  those 
south  country  stables.  As  for  money  we  can  win  as  much 
as  we  please  over  him.  Properly  worked,  Radcliffe,  Bill, 
and  myself  may  stand  to  win  perfect  fortunes  with  very 
little  risk.”  And  so  saying  Norman  Slade  went  down 
stairs  to  breakfast. 

“Weill  Mr.  Slade,”  exclaimed  the  jockey,  as  Norman 
entered  the  parlour,  “ I hope  you  found  an  appetite  upon 
the  moor  if  you  found  nothing  else.  I suppose  you  saw  all 
my  rubbish,” 

“Rubbish,  are  they?”  ejaculated  Norman,  “perhaps 
so%  I wonder  what  you’d  take  for  the  three  three-year- 
olds  Knight  of  the  Whistle  led  in  their  gallop  this 
morning  ? ” 

“Have  you  got  a commission?”  inquired  the  jockey, 
eyeing  his  guest  keenly.  “ If  you  have  you  may  take 


five  minutes.” 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


130 

those  three  for  a monkey,  and  I shall  think  myself  well 
out  of  them.'* 

“ Well,  Bill,  you  take  my  advice,  don't  you  be  in  a 
hurry  to  part  with  those  three  for  five  hundred  until  you 
know  a little  more  about  them.  How  did  you  try  them 
last  back  end  ? " 

“They  had  a six-furlong  spin  with  old  Knight  of  the 
Whistle,  as  true  a trial  horse  as  ever  was  foaled.  Two  of 
'em  were  tried  at  weight  for  age,  but  Belisarius  I rather 
fancied,  so  I put  him  in  at  seven  pounds  less.  The  old 
horse  cleaned  out  the  lot,  and  as  for  my  fancy,  he  finished 
last  of  all?" 

“You  neither  saw  it  nor  rode  in  it,  I suppose,"  rejoined 
Slade. 

“ I certainly  didn’t  ride  in  it,  and  I only  half  saw  it.  I 
was  very  ill,  and  it  was  a very  misty  day,  and  I left  the 
management  of  the  whole  thing  to  Parrott." 

“ Well,  then,"  retorted  Slade,  “ I maintain  your  trial  is 
no  trial  at  all,  and  that  you  know  nothing  about  your  own 
young  ones." 

“You’re  a very  tidy  judge,  Mr.  Slade,  and  know  a bit 
what  you’re  speaking  about,"  rejoined  the  jockey,  not  a 
little  nettled,  “ but  if  you  think  you  can  learn  me  my  busi- 
ness you  are  damnedly  mistaken." 

“ Never  supposed  I could  teach  you  anything.  Bill," 
replied  Norman,  perfectly  unmoved,  “ but  no  man  ever 
lived  who  didn’t  make  a mistake  at  times ; and  he  never 
did  so  without  there  being  a looker-on  with  half  his  brains 
who  could  point  it  out  to  him.  If  you  had  been  well 
enough  to  ride  in  it  yourself  I should  look  upon  that  trial 
as  conclusive.  You  weren’t,  and  I look  upon  it  as  all 
skittles." 

“ I know  what  I’m  about,”  rejoined  the  jockey,  sulkily. 
“ I’ll  come  to  you  when  I want  to  know  the  time  of  day, 
^4hank  you;  in  the  meantime  you  can’t  say  you’re  invited 
to  risk  money  on  anything  of  mine." 

“ Now,  do  listen  to  reason.  Bill,”  rejoined  Norman, 
quietly;  “don’t  say  anything  now — just  turn  it  over  in 
your  mind.  Give  me  three  or  four  days  to  worm  out  what 
I can  about  that  trial.  You  have  got  nothing  to  do, 


TRIAL  OF  BELISARIUS* 


remember,  but  to  get  well,  and  just  before  I leave  you 
get  on  that  brown  colt,  and  see  whether  Knight  of  the 
Whistle  can  give  him  twenty-one  pounds  over  a mile.*’ 

At  first  the  jealous,  irritable  old  jockey  bluntly  refused  ; 
said  that  he  had  satisfied  himself  about  the  brutes;  that 
he  was  not  going  to  trouble  himself  to  get  into  the  saddle 
to  see  how  far  Belisarius  was  behind  a good  horse ; that 
Slade  had  better  not  waste  his  time  in  the  experiment  of 
turning  Yorkshire  geese  into  Epsom  swans;  but  in  his 
innermost  heart  Bill  Smith  began  to  ponder  over  what  his 
guest  had  said  ; he  knew  that  Norman  Slade  was  a really 
right  good  judge  of  a thoroughbred.  He  had  had,  in  the 
first  instance,  a great  opinion  of  Belisarius  himself,  and  in 
his  best  days  the  man’s  natural  egotism  had  invariably 
prompted  him  to  little  belief  in  a trial  in  which  he  had  not 
taken  part.  No  man  had  more  often  expressed  his  dis- 
belief in  the  issue  of  what  he  designated  a “mooddling 
gallop,”  and  he  was  forced  to  admit  that  this  trial  of  his 
might  strictly  be  described  as  such.  As  for  Slade,  he  was 
much  too^  clever  a man  of  the  world  to  touch  upon  the 
subject  for  a couple  of  days.  He  was  up  every  morning 
to  see  Belisarius  do  his  work,  and  the  more  he  saw  of  him 
the  more  convinced  he  was  that  he  was  a good  horse.  He 
had  got  hold  of  the  boy  who  rode  him  in  that  rough  York- 
shire gallop  at  the  back  end  of  last  year,  and  by  dint  of 
bribery,  cajolery,  and  intimidation  had  at  last  wrung  from 
him  the  confession  that  he  had  been  so  bad  with  boils  on 
that  occasion  as  to  be  perfectly  unfit  to  ride,  and  quite 
unable  to  do  justice  to  his  horse. 

Norman  Slade  communicated  his  discovery  to  Smith, 
who  received  the  intelligence  with  a savage  execration 
and  a muttered  growling,  in  which  strong  expletives  and 
such  terms  as  “ Break  every  bone  in  his  body,”  “ Cut  the 
little  devil  in  two,”  etc,,  were  alone  audible;  but  Slade 
eventually  smoothed  him  down,  and  pleaded  that  he  had 
pledged  himself  the  boy  should  go  scatheless  if  he  told 
the  whole  truth.  “ Besides,”  urged  Norman,  “it’s  no  use 
thrashing  him  for  his  sins  of  five  or  six  months  back ; the 
poor  little  beggar  will  doubtless  commit  himself  again 
before  long,” 


132 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


The  jockey  burst  out  laughing.  “ Well,  Mr.  Slade,”  he 
cried,  “ you  are  an  ingenious  advocate,  but  Fd  as  lief  you 
weren’t  arguing  for  my  defence.  Don’t  hang  him  now, 
because  you’ll  have  another  chance  before  long.  Well, 
there’s  something  in  it,  and  I promise  to  let  the  young  vil- 
lain off  this  time.” 

“ Thanks,  it’s  very  likely  all  for  the  best ; nobody  has  the 
faintest  idea  that  you  hold  a trump  card  in  your  hand.  I 
want  you  to  have  another  spin  with  them  Saturday  morn- 
ing, and  ride  Belisarius  yourself — it’ll  do  you  more  good 
than  all  the  doctors.  Bill,  if  you  find  him  what  I think, 
don’t  ask  him  to  do  a heartbreaking  thing,  but  still  let  us 
ask  Belisarius  the  question  in  real  earnest.” 

Right  you  are,  Mr.  Slade ; I shall  be  perpetually  on 
the  fidget  till  I know  the  worst,  as  old  John  Day  always 
puts  it.” 

There  was  an  eager  discussion  that  night  at  dinner 
between  Slade  and  his  host  as  to  what  weights  should  be 
apportioned  to  the  Knight  of  the  Whistle  and  Belisarius. 
The  Knight  was  a five-year-old,  who  from  his  youth  up- 
wards had  always  been  a fairly  good  horSe.  He  was  by 
no  means  first  class,  and  his  chief  merit  lay  in  his  being  a 
consistent  performer.  If  he  didn’t  win  when  he  was 
expected,  still  he  was  always  there  or  thereabouts  ; and  on 
the  training-ground,  as  Bill  Smith  always  said,  you  might 
thoroughly  depend  on  what  a gallop  with  him  told  you  as 
regarded  the  young  ones.  Slade  insisted  upon  it  that  if 
Belisarius  could  beat  the  old  horse,  in  concession  of  a stone, 
it  would  be  quite  good  enough  for  the  present,  and  then  it 
would  be  time  enough  to  try  him  a little  higher  later  on, 
whilst  Smith  was  for  asking  the  sterner  question  at  once. 
However,  after  much  discussion,  Slade’s  proposition  was 
agreed  to,  and  it  was  determined  that  the  trial  should  come 
off  on  the  Saturday  morning. 

Eight  o’clock  on  that  day  consequently  saw  the  little 
group  gathered  together  at  the  mile-post.  As  on  the  first 
morning  Slade  had  gone  up  to  the  moor,  with  this  rather 
important  difference,  that  old  Bill  Smith  himself,  his  throat 
enveloped  in  many  folds  of  a silk  handkerchief,  was  on  the 
back  of  Belisarius,  Tom  Parrott  was  down  at  the  mile- 


TRIAL  OF  BELISARIUS. 


*33 


post  to  start  them,  while  Norman  took  up  his  favourite 
position  halfway  up  the  ascent  which  terminated  the  gallop. 
All  three  boys  had  their  orders,  the  best  lad  in  the  stable 
being  put  on  Knight  of  the  Whistle.  At  the  word  “ Go  I 
one  of  the  three-year-olds  rushed  to  the  front  and  made  the 
running  at  a smart  pace,  the  Knight  lying  second,  while 
Belisarius  was  last  of  all.  A quarter  of  a mile  from  home 
the  leader  had  shot  his  bolt,  and  the  running  was  immedi- 
ately taken  up  by  the  other  three-year-old,  the  Knight  still 
lying  second  and  Belisarius  last  As  they  neared  the 
ascent  the  Knight  assumed  the  command  and  Belisarius 
crept  rapidly  up  to  him.  Just  before  reaching  Norman  the 
brown  colt,  pulling  double,  reached  the  Knight's  quarters. 

It’s  a monkey  to  a mousetrap  on  the  young  ’un,”  mut- 
tered Norman  Slade,  with  a flush  of  exultation  in  his  dark 
eyes,  when  suddenly  Bill  Smith  stopped  riding,  eased  his 
horse,  and  left  Knight  of  the  Whistle  to  gallop  in  two  or 
three  lengths  in  front  of  him. 

By  Jove,  it  has  been  too  much  for  him  1 ” exclaimed 
Slade,  as  he  hurried  across  to  speak  to  the  jockey.  “ What’s 
the  matter.  Bill  ? Are  you  faint,  or  sick,  or  what  is  it  ? ” 
‘‘  Hush  ; nothing  is  the  matter,”  replied  Bill  Smith,  as 
he  bent  over  his  saddle-bow.  “ He’s  a flyer.  I could  have 
won  the  length  of  a street  if  I had  gone  on,  but  it  would 
have  been  a sin  to  show  him  up.” 

This  concluded  the  work  for  the  morning.  Belisarius 
was  handed  over  to  his  boy,  and  Slade  and  his  host,  get- 
ting into  the  trap  which  had  brought  them  up,  made  the 
best  of  their  way  home  to  breakfast.  A very  merry  meal 
was  that.  The  two  men  were  very  jubilant  over  the  event 
of  the  morning. 

‘‘You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Slade;  that  colt  is  a good 
deal  beyond  the  common.  The  horse  will  have  a chance 
for  any  one  of  the  big  races  that  could  beat  the  Knight  at 
a stone.  I could  not  only  have  beaten  him  this  morning, 
but  had  a lot  in  hand  besides.” 

“We  know  enough  about  Belisarius  now,”  rejoined 
Slade,  “ at  all  events,  to  ensure  your  not  parting  with  him 
with  the  other  two  for  five  hundred  pounds.  Now,  no- 
body suspects  you  of  owning  a good  horse  at  present.’  Sg 


134 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


you  can  back  him  to  win  you  a good  stake  for  a very 
trifling  outlay.  You  stick  to  the  colt  and  leave  the  com- 
mission to  be  worked  by  Radcliffe  and  myself.  The  horse 
is  very  forward,  so  I suppose  you’ll  run  him  for  the  Two 
Thousand  ? ” 

“ Certainly,  if  all  goes  well,”  rejoined  the  jockey.  “ It’s 
a big  stake,  and  the  opposition  don’t  threaten  to  be  strong. 
It’s  never  any  use  keeping  a good  horse  in  the  stable  when 
he  is  fit  to  ride.” 

The  next  day  was  passed  in  much  talk  of  bygone  racing- 
lore.  Bill  Smith  was  highly  elated  at  discovering  that 
amongst  what  he  had  deemed  his  worthless  string  there 
was  probably  one  very  high-class  racer.  Money  was 
scarce  with  him  at  the  present  moment,  but  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  five  thousand  would  have  induced  him  to 
part  with  the  horse  just  now  ; and  both  he  and  Slade  knew 
well  that  there  were  many  men  in  England  who  would 
gladly  give  that  sum  for  Belisarius  on  hearing  the  result  of 
that  morning’s  gallop.  Everything  was  arranged  between 
the  jockey  and  his  guest  during  that  last  evening. 

Bill  Smith  had  settled  how  much  he  could  afford  to 
trust  his  horse  with  for  the  Two  Thousand  Guineas,  and 
either  Slade  or  Radcliffe  was  to  do  that  commission  for 
him  on  the  former’s  return  to  town. 

To  those  three  the  secret  of  Belisarius’s  prowess  was  as 
yet,  if  possible,  to  be  confined.  On  the  Monday  Bill 
Smith  drove  his  guest  to  the  nearest  station,  and  Slade, 
to  use  his  own  expression,  returned  to  town  with  the 
winner  of  the  Derby  in  his  pocket. 

There  was  not  a little  curiosity  at  Tattersall’s  the  suc- 
ceeding Monday,  when  Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe  lounged  in  a 
little  before  five,  and  asked,  in  his  languid  way,  what  they 
were  betting  on  the  Two  Thousand. 

“ Three  to  one  on  the  field,”  exclaimed  one  of  the  leading 
speculators.  “ What  do  you  want  to  do,  Sir  Ronald — do 
you  want  it  to  money  ? ” 

“ Thank  you,  Cookson,”  was  the  reply.  “ I don’t  want 
to  back  the  favourite.  What  is  Chelmsford’s  price  ? ” 

“ Six  to  one,”  rejoined  the  bookmaker  promptly.  **  What 
shall  I put  it  down  to  ? ” 


TRIAL  OF  BELISARIUS. 


13S 


••You  needn’t  put  it  down  at  all,”  rejoined  Sir  Ronald, 
carelessly.  “ Who’ll  make  me  a bid  against  one  not  men- 
tioned in  the  betting  ? ” 

**  What  is  it,  Sir  Ronald  ? ” inquired  two  or  three  book- 
makers eagerly. 

“ Belisarius,”  replied  the  baronet. 

“ Beli,  what  ? ” cried  Cookson.  “ How  do  you  spell  it  ? ” 

“ There’s  the  name,”  rejoined  the  baronet,  as  he  showed 
a page  in  his  betting-book  upon  which  Belisarius  was 
clearly  written.  “ What  will  any  one  lay  me  to  a hundred  ? ” 

“ Never  heard  the  name  before,”  rejoined  Cookson, 
sharply.  “ And  it’s  not  a very  good  betting-race,  but  if 
you  like  to  have  three  thousand  to  a hundred.  Sir  Ronald, 
you  can  put  it  down.” 

“ All  right ! ” replied  the  baronet.  “ Does  any  ane  want 
to  do  it  again  ? ” 

There  was  some  little  sparring,  but  eventually  the  same 
odds  were  laid  to  the  same  amount  twice  more.  Then  one 
of  the  speculators  produced  a “ turf  guide  ” from  his 
pocket,  and  exclaimed,  “ Why,  it’s  a dark  colt  of  old  Bill 
Smith’s.  Here’s  twenty  to  one,  Belisarius,  to  a hundred. 
Who  will  have  it  ? ” 

Sir  Ronald  simply  shook  his  head,  and,  saying  <<  that  he 
had  got  quite  sufficient,”  sauntered  out  of  the  subscription- 
room  in  his  usual  indolent  manner. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  Belisarius  in  the  betting  was 
much  talked  of  for  a day  or  two  in  racing-circles ; and  all 
sorts  of  wild  rumours  were  current  concerning  old  Bill 
Smith’s  dark  three-year-old.  But  as  no  authentic  infor- 
mation regarding  him  came  to  hand,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
liberal  offers  of  the  bookmakers,  nobody  seemed  to  have 
the  slightest  inclination  to  back  him,  Belisarius  faded  once 
more  out  of  the  betting.  And  it  was  only  now  and  again 
at  intervals  that  here  and  there  a very  crafty  speculator 
dribbled  a little  bit  on  him  at  long  shots,  on  the  sole 
ground  as  he  explained  that  Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe  wasn’t 
a fool,  and  that  there  might  be  something  in  this  dark  cok 
after  all.  Still,  at  the  rare  intervals  that  the  name  of 
Belisarius  cropped  up  in  the  betting,  it  was  always  at 
very  long  odds*  As  for  Sir  Ronald,  he  was  a reticent  mast 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


13^ 

concerning  his  turf  transactions;  and  with  a few  intimates, 
who  felt  entitled  to  question  him  on  the  subject,  he  simply 
replied  “ that  he  had  never  seen  the  colt  in  his  life,  but 
that  he  believed  those  connected  with  him  considered  that 
he  had  a good  chance  for  the  Two  Thousand.'* 

In  the  meantime  Belisarius  strides  away  over  the  York- 
shire Wold  in  grand  style  ; and  old  Bill  Smith,  who  has 
entirely  shaken  off  his  gout,  grows  “ sweeter  " day  by  day. 


XIX. — In  the  Gazette# 

•• th  Hussars.  Charles  Devereux,  gent.,  to  be  Cornet,  vice 

Langley,  promoted.  October  14th.” 

I WONDER  if  there  is  any  man  who  has  once  worn  Her 
Majesty’s  uniform  who  cannot.recall  the  exultation  with 
which  he  once  read  a similar  notice  in  the  Gazette,  It  is, 
in  all  probability,  the  first  time  he  has  ever  seen  his  name 
in  print ; and,  lightly  though  he  may  affect  to  take  it,  he 
still,  whenever  he  can  possess  himself  of  the  paper,  reads 
‘that  announcement  furtively  for  the  next  day  or  two.  If 
he  does  not  carry  his  head  a trifle  higher,  and  feel  inclined 
to  put  on  some  slight  amount  of  swagger  amongst  his 
youthful  acquaintance,  then  most  assuredly  he  is  not  of 
the  clay  of  which  soldiers  should  be  kneaded.  Most  of 
us,  I should  think,  could  remember  the  fever-heat  of  those 
few  days  after  our  first  appearance  in  the  Gazette;  how 
anxiously  we  made  ourselves  acquainted  with  all  the 
braveries  of  our  regiment ; and,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
dedicated  much  time  to  the  costumes  of  the  British  army 
generally.  What  special  designation  our  corps  might  be 
known  by  in  the  slang  of  the  service  was  also  the  subject 
5f  much  delight  and  congratulation.  Whether  we  were  in 
the  Slashers,  the  Springers,  the  Red  Lancers,  or  the  Dirty 
half-hundred,  whether  Black  Watch  or  Cameron  High- 
landers, was  a distinction  which  it  was  maddening  that 
our  civilian  friends  (we  had  begun  to  call  them  so  by  this 
time)  failed  to  comprehend  the  importance  of.  Then 


IN  THE  GAZETTE. 


13; 

came  all  the  fun  of  the  outfit  — the  trying-on  of  ouf 
uniforms  (that  first  experience  of  the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance of  glorious  war) ; and,  though  we  have  a dim 
recollection  of  getting  our  sword  between  our  legs,  of 
feeling  exquisitely  uncomfortable  in  the  unaccustomed 
dress  generally,  and  of  a tendency  to  snigger,  on  the  part 
of  the  tailor’s  young  man,  at  the  awkwardness  we  dis- 
played in  our  new  cloth  and  broideries,  still,  upon  the 
whole,  it  was  a joyous  time,  with  life  and  the  career  of 
our  choice  all  opening  before  us. 

Charlie  Devereux  was  delighted  with  the  official  letter 
that  confirmed  his  appearance  in  the  Gazette^  and  further 
informed  him  that  he  was  granted  leave  of  absence  until 
the  31st  of  December,  on  which  day  he  was  requested  to 
report  himself  to  the  officer  commanding  the  — th  Hussars, 
at  York.  Old  Tom  Devereux  had  been  much  pleased  with 
his  son’s  appointment.  He  authorized  him  to  draw  for  a 
very  liberal  sum  on  account  of  his  outfit,  and  further 
promised  to  make  him  a present  of  Pole  Star  for  first 
charger,  as  soon  as  that  gallant  animal  had  fulfilled  his 
engagement  in  the  Autumn  Steeplechase  at  Lincoln.  About 
this  latter  there  was  considerable  excitement  at  North 
Leach.  The  young  one  had  no  doubt  come  on  a good 
deal  during  the  year,  and  was  a very  much  better  horse 
than  he  had  been  in  the  spring.  Charlie  was  once  more 
to  ride,  and  was  sanguine  about  turning  the  tables  on  his 
successful  antagonist  of  last  March. 

“ I rode  very  green  then,”  he  cried,  “and  allowed  myself 
to  be  gammoned  out  of  the  race.  Whether  I could  have 
quite  won  I don’t  know,  but  I ought  to  have  been  much 
nearer,  I am  sure.  I was  looking  after  George  Fletcher, 
when  all  the  time  it  was  Jim  I ought  to  have  been  stick- 
ing to.” 

“ Given  the  same  animals  and  you  ought  to  have  the 
best  of  them  this  time,”  said  John  Devereux,  “ but  there’s 
no  knowing  what  those  Fletchers  will  run  ; and,  remem- 
ber, they  are  as  full  of  dodges  as  an  old  dog-fox.  Next 
time.  Master  Charlie,  ride  your  own  race,  trust  your  own 
judgment,  and  don’t  hang  upon  them.” 

To  fight  the  spring  battle  of  the  Carholme  over  again 


*38 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


would  be  to  weary  the  reader.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  Pole 
Star  fully  justified  the  improvement  claimed  for  him  by  his 
friends,  and  that  Charlie,  when  they  turned  into  the 
straight,  having  satisfactorily  disposed  of  Jim  Fletcher, 
felt  like  sailing  in  an  easy  winner,  but  half  way  up  the  dis- 
tance, George  Fletcher,  who  seemed  to  Charlie  to  have 
dropped  from  the  clouds,  as  he  had  seen  nothing  of  him 
after  the  first  half-mile,  challenged,  and  a desperate  race 
home  ensued  between  the  pair,  but  Charlie  this  time  had 
ridden  his  horse  carefully,  and  Pole  Star  had  a good  bit  left 
in  him  to  finish  with.  Holding  George  Fletcher’s  riding 
in  great  respect,  Charlie  determined  to  let  him  get  no 
nearer  than  he  could  help ; he  was  a length  to  the  good 
when  the  final  struggle  began,  and  in  spite  of  all  George 
Fletcher’s  efforts  he  could  never  quite  get  up,  and  Charlie 
was  returned  the  winner  by  a good  neck,  to  the  great  glory 
and  jubilation  of  North  Leach. 

New  Year’s  Day  saw  Charlie  Devereux  installed  in  his 
new  quarters  in  the  barracks  at  York ; his  baggage  had  been 
sent  on  in  advance,  and  Bertie  Slade  had  duly  seen  to  the  fit- 
ting-up of  the  two  rooms  destined  to  become  his  domicile  for 
the  present.  He  was  in  high  spirits,  disposed  to  like  every- 
thing, and  to  make  light  of  such  disagreeables  as  are  the 
inevitable  portion  of  a soldier’s  novitiate.  Recruit  drill 
and  the  riding-school  are  necessities,  but  he  must  be  a very 
enthusiastic  soldier  who  can  describe  them  as  pleasures. 
He  had  been  a little  dashed  by  the  confidences  of  a brother 
cornet  who  was  still  undergoing  the  discipline  of  the 
scho6l. 

I shan’t  mind  the  riding-school,”  remarked  Charlie, 
confidently;  “ I’ve  been  more  or  less  on  the  top  of  a horse 
from  my  childhood,  and  was  good  enough  to  just  win  a 
steeplechase  this  autumn.” 

“ So  much  the  worse  for  you,”  rejoined  his  new  chum. 
“ Our  riding-master  will  tell  you  that  it’s  the  fellows  who 
think  they  can  ride  give  all  the  trouble.  Same  way  dis- 
mounted drill , the  sergeant  always  says  it’s  the  gentlemen 
who  thought  they  learnt  it  at  their  private  tutor’s  that 
there’s  no  getting  it  into.  I thought  that  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  to  learn  as  much  as  I could  before  joining,  and 


IN  THE  GAZETTE. 


139 


now  my  persecutor  says,  ‘ You  see,  Mr.  Robertson,  there’s 
so  much  to  knock  out  of  you  before  we  can  properly  set  to 
work  on  you.’  ” 

“ Well,”  replied  Charlie,  laughing,  I’m  ignorant  oJ 
everything,  except  having  learnt  to  ride,  well,  we’ll  say,  in 
my  own  fashion.” 

Charlie  Devereux  commenced  his  military  career  about 
three  months  before  Norman  Slade  made  that  remarkable 
discovery  on  Bellaton  Moor,  but  neither  Bertie  Slade 
nor  himself  were  even  aware  of  Norman’s  presence  in 
Yorkshire. 

Amongst  many  other  people  who  had  seen  Charlie’s 
name  in  the  Gazette  were  the  Kynastons.  They  were 
both,  of  course,  aware  that  it  was  impending,  and  they 
both  regarded  it  as  a point  to  be  utilised  in  their  respective 
games  of  life.  The  Major  had  again  taken  on  “ The  Firs  ” 
as  a hunting-box;  it  suited  him  in  some  respects:  first  and 
foremost,  he  got  the  place  cheap.  It  was  not  every  one 
who  cared  to  take  a hunting-box  in  North  Lincolnshire, 
where  neighbours  ran  scarce,  and  there  was  little  but  the 
sheer  sport  to  rely  upon  for  amusement.  Dick  Kynaston 
was  undoubtedly  very  fond  of  hunting  in  his  own  way; 
he  took  his  pleasure  leisurely  in  this  respect  now,  but  he 
gave  the  idea  of  a man  who  had  been  able  to  “ ride  a bit  ” 
in  his  youth.  He  was  a constant  attendant  at  the  cover- 
side,  and,  though  he  always  laughingly  said  his  riding  days 
were  over,  yet  now  and  again,  when  fortune  favoured  him 
and  the  country  was  not  too  stiff,  he  could  hold  his  own 
with  the  best  in  a fast  thing.  As  for  Mrs.  Kynaston,  as 
before  said,  she  rode  in  a somewhat  similar  fashion,  taking 
the  role  of  a mere  spectator  for  the  most  part,  but  some 
two  or  three  times  in  the  season  showing  that  when  she 
chose  the  best  lady  in  the  hunt  would  have  to  do  all  she 
knew  to  beat  Kate  Kynaston. 

In  these  country  quarters  the  Major  always  looked  for- 
ward to  doing  a bit  of  horse-dealing,  and  though,  whether 
in  the  Wolds  of  Lincolnshire  or  those  of  Yorkshire,  experi- 
ence had  shown  him  how  difficult  it  is  to  get  the  better  of 
the  natives  in  the  matter  of  horseflesh,  the  Major  was  still 
keen  as  ever  about  picking  up  bargains  in  that  way ; then, 


140 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


again,  there  were  always  Tally  Ho  Stakes  and  Gone  Away 
Plates  to  be  compassed,  and  it  afforded  the  Major  infinite 
amusement,  if  no  profit,  as  witness  his  disappointment  at 
Lincoln  Spring  Meeting,  to  pick  up  a horse  that  he  fancied 
capable  of  carrying  off  such  races. 

In  spite  of  his  resolutions  in  the  early  part  of  the  year 
he  had  supported  Charlie  once  more  in  the  Autumn  Hunt 
Steeple  Chase,  and  won  a very  nice  little  stake  upon  Pole 
Star.  Young  Devereux  in  a Hussar  regiment  quartered 
at  York  he  considered  would  be  decidedly  worth  culti- 
vating. His  far-seeing  eye  looked  out  upon  a very  pleasant 
billet  for  the  York  Races  in  the  ensuing  August.  There 
was  sure  to  be  plenty  of  card-playing  and  billiards,  besides 
the  opportunities  offered  by  the  Knavesmire,  and  it  was 
on  these  varied  opportunities  that  the  Major  depended 
upon  in  great  part  for  a living. 

The  Firs  also  suited  Mrs.  Kynaston  for  this  winter;  not 
only  did  it  allow  her  to  retain  Charlie  Devereux  within 
her  thrall,  for  whose  devotion  she  honestly  cared  but  little, 
but  it  also  offered  the  best  possible  chance  she  knew  of 
seeing  something  of  Gilbert  Slade,  and  in  Gilbert  Slade, 
between  pique  and  caprice,  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  much 
interested. 

It  had  been  a mere  whim  in  the  first  instance,  but  the 
indifference  Slade  had  shown  to  her  charms,  and,  latterly, 
his  evident  preference  for  Lettice  herself,  had  aroused  a 
/ery  tornado  in  this  wayward  woman’s  breast.  She  had 
dwelt  upon  it,  brooded  upon  it,  what  you  will ; but  ended 
by  conceiving  herself  passionately  in  love  with  the  good- 
looking  Hussar.  Bertie  Slade  had  run  down  for  the  day 
to  Lincoln  to  see  Charlie  ride  Pole  Star,  but  he  had  so 
far  put  in  no  appearance  at  North  Leach ; and,  now  that 
Charlie  had  joined  the  regiment,  it  was  not  very  likely 
that  he  would  do  so.  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  quite  enough 
knowledge  of  things  military  to  know  that  it  was  not  very 
likely  young  Devereux  would  get  leave  for  the  first  few 
months,  until  he  had  passed  his  noAit  ate,  in  fact;  and  it 
was  hardly  likely  that  Bertie  would  come  to  North  Leach, 
unless  he  accompanied  his  friend. 

Gilbert  Slade,  indeed,  when  young  Devereux  suggested 


IN  THE  GAZETTE. 


I4X 


a run  home  to  North  Leach  for  a few  days*  hunting, 
laughed  as  he  replied,  “ I can  tell  you  what  the  chief’s 
reply  will  be  before  you  ask  him.  He  will  tell  you,  ‘ The 
York  and  Ainsty  are  quite  good  enough  for  you  to  hunt 
with  for  the  present ; and  it  will  be  time  enough  for  you 
to  go  further  a-field  when  you  are  through  the  school  and 
have  learned  your  drill.*  No,  no,  the  chief  is  a rare  good 
sort  for  leave,  but,  as  for  your  wanting  it  just  after,  you 
have  joined,  he  will  regard  that  as  unmitigated  cheek.” 

Charlie  accepted  his  comrade’s  dictum ; in  reality,  he 
had  no  great  desire  to  go  back  to  North  Leach.  As  far 
as  hunting  went,  the  sport  around  York  would  satisfy  any 
man  not  wedded  to  the  shires,  and  the  new  life  was  full 
of  pleasure  and  amusement  to  a young  fellow  like  himself. 
But  then  there  were  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  instructions,  that  he 
was  to  be  sure  and  come  back,  bring  Mr.  Slade  with  him, 
and  have  a week  in  his  own  country,  if  he  could  compass 
it.  And  Lettice,  too,  as  she  bade  him  good-bye,  had  said, 
**  It  would  be  awfully  jolly,  Charlie,  if  you  and  Mr.  Slade 
can  run  down  and  have  a good  gallop  or  two  with  us 
before  the  season  closes.**  Well,  he  had  done  his  best ; 
and,  as  it  couldn’t  be  managed,  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

During  the  latter  part  of  her  stay  in  London  Mrs, 
Kynaston  had  seen  a good  deal  of  Ralph  Furzedon.  It 
had  been,  in  the  first  instance,  because  her  husband  had 
wished  her  to  do  so.  Their  intimacy  had  increased,  be- 
cause Furzedon  eagerly  cultivated  her  acquaintance;  and, 
latterly,  because  she  had  seen  her  way  into  making  use  of 
him.  To  say  that  she  had  easily  detected  Furzedon’s 
besetting  ambition  would  hardly  describe  the  case.  The 
man  had  made  a confidant  of  her  from  the  first ; she  knew 
how  anxious  he  was  to  push  himself  into  society — the 
higher  the  better;  but,  at  all  events,  into  society  of  some 
sort  to  start  with.  She  had  done  him  more  than  one  good 
turn  in  that  respect,  and  Furzedon  clung  tenaciously  to 
her  skirts  in  consequence.  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  of  late 
made  up  her  mind  that  he  should  marry  Lettie  Devereux. 
Furzedon  had  thought  Lettie  a very  pretty  girl  to  start 
with ; but  it  had  never  entered  into  his  mind  to  make  her 
his  wife  until  Mrs.  Kynaston  not  only  planted  the  idea 


142 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


there,  but  tendered  it  and  ministered  to  it  as  a delicate 
flower  requiring  careful  cultivation.  She  was  always 
chanting  Lettie’s  praises. 

“ That  girl,'*  she  would  say,  **  only  requires  to  be  seen 
to  have  half  London  at  her  feet.  She  is  thrown  away 
amongst  that  dowdy  set  of  Mrs.  Connop’s ; and  she  is  so 
dreadfully  loyal  to  her  aunt  that  I can’t  induce  her  to 
come  about  a little  under  my  chaperonage.** 

“ I should  have  thought,”  Furzedon  had  rejoined,  “that 
her  family  was  hardly  good  enough  to  give  her  much  chance 
in  the  matrimonial  market.” 

“No  chancel”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  a shrug  of 
her  shoulders.  “ Much  you  know  about  it.  The  bluest 
blood  in  the  peerage  in  these  democratic  days  mates  either 
with  beauty  or  money-bags,  if  it  doesn’t  do  worse  than  go 
to  the  coulisses  for  its  countess.  If  Lettie  Devereux  only 
marries  a man  with  a tolerably  good  fortune  she  will 
speedily  be  in  what  society  she  likes  in  London.” ' 

Now  all  this,  if  not  strictly  true,  was  so  in  great  part. 
Lettie  Devereux  was  a very  pretty  girl,  quite  likely  to  make 
a good  match,  and  whose  antecedents  were  little  likely  to 
stand  in  her  way  should  a man  fall  in  love  with  her.  Day 
by  day  all  this  sank  deeper  and  deeper  into  Mr.  Furzedon’s 
mind.  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  far  too  clever  ever  to  suggest 
that  Lettie  would  suit  him — she  spoke  of  the  girl  always  in 
the  abstract,  as  one  whom  nature  had  so  richly  endowed 
that  she  must  have  a brilliant  future  before  her,  always 
accompanied  by  regret  that  that  future  was  being  muddled 
away  by  the  bad  start  she  had  at  Mrs.  Connop’s.  Mrs. 
Kynaston  dilated  upon  Lettie’s  charms  in  a manner  that 
her  own  estimate  of  them  hardly  warranted.  Lettice 
Devereux  was  undoubtedly  a pretty  girl,  but  she  was  not 
such  a striking  beauty  as  it  suited  her  friend  to  make  out. 
Anyway,  the  idea  that  it  would  be  a good  thing  for  him  to 
marry  Lettice  Devereux  was  beginning  to  take  a strong 
hold  on  Furzedon’s  mind.  He  was  a considerably  wealthier 
man  than  people  had  any  idea  of.  Not  only  had  his  father 
left  him  very  well  off,  but  recently  an  uncle  had  died  who 
bad  bequeathed  to  him  considerable  business  of  the  same 
nature  as  the  late  lamented  Furzedon’s.  He  bad  turned 


IN  THE  GAZETTE. 


Hi 


up  his  nose  at  his  father’s  calling,  but  that  was  when  he 
was  young  and  foolish.  A shrewd,  grasping,  hard  man, 
devoted  to  money-making,  he  had  determined  to  carry  on 
this  latter,  under  an  assumed  name,  of  course ; but  then 
most  usury  is  conducted  on  such  principles,  and  the  person 
with  whom  a loan  is  contracted  is  apt  to  be  a mere  man 
of  straw  acting  for  a principal  in  the  background. 

Now  one  of  the  first  negotiations  that  had  fallen  to 
Furzedon’s  lot  after  taking  up  his  uncle’s  business  had 
tickled  that  gentleman  immensely.  It  may  be  remembered 
that  Charlie  Devereux,  to  meet  his  losses  at  Newmarket, 
had  been  obliged  to  borrow  money  from  Ralph  Furzedon  ; 
he  had  given  his  acceptance  in  acknowledgment  to  three 
bills  of  various  amounts,  but  the  total  of  which  came  to  a 
considerable  sum.  Worried  about  this,  Charlie,  it  may 
be  borne  in  mind,  had  confided  his  troubles  to  Major 
Kynaston,  and  that  gentleman  had  promptly  found  him 
the  money  with  which  to  redeem  those  bills  from  Furzedon, 
but  to  do  this  the  Major  had  simply  to  raise  the  money 
from  a professional  usurer.  His  knowledge  of  the  money- 
lenders in  the  metropolis  was  extensive,  and  amongst 
others  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  business  with 
Ralph  Furzedon’s  uncle,  who  traded,  as  before  said,  under 
an  assumed  name.  It  is  easy  to  conceive  how  Mr.  Furze- 
don chuckled  upon  discovering  that  the  acceptances  that 
were  redeemed  had  only  been  rescued  for  acceptances  of 
the  same  description  bearing  usurious  interest  instead  of 
the  modest  five  per  cent,  with  which  as  a friend  he  had 
contented  himself.  In  short,  poor  Charlie’s  bills  had 
simply  been  transferred  from  one  pocket  to  the  other. 
Major  Kynaston  was  in  profound  ignorance  of  this , he 
was  aware  of  the  death  of  the  principal,  but  was  informed 
when  he  called  that  the  business  was  carried  on  as  usual, 
and,  having  effected  his  business,  had  troubled  himself 
, no  more« 


144 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


XX. — ^The  Two  Thousand. 

The  race  for  the  Two  Thousand  draws  near,  and, 
though  the  betting  thereon  is  languid  in  proportion 
to  what  it  usually  was  in  those  grand  old  gambling  days, 
still  this  could  not  be  so  much  ascribed  to  the  apathy  of 
the  sporting  public  as  to  the  narrow  circumscription  of  the 
betting.  The  race  was  regarded  by  those  conversant  in 
Turf  matters  as  a certainty  for  Glendower.  Such  a gift, 
indeed,  did  it  look  to  him,  that  it  was  rumoured  there  would 
be  hardly  any  opposition.  And  out  of  the  half-dozen  pos- 
sible runners  quoted  no  one  can  imagine  that  any  of  the 
number  had  much  chance  of  defeating  the  favourite  colt, 
whose  two-year  old  career  had  consisted  of  six  or  seven 
unbroken  victories.  Glendower,  like  the  upas-tree,  over- 
shadowed and  killed  the  market.  In  the  teeth  of  his 
triumphant  career  it  seemed  sheer  madness  to  back  any  of 
his  opponents.  And  when  there  suddenly  dawned  upon 
the  horizon  a dim  star  like  Belisarius,  and  when  men  hav- 
ing given  time  to  collect  such  facts  about  him  as  that  he 
belonged  to  Bill  Smith,  the  famous  north  country  jockey, 
and  that  he  had  been  backed  by  one  so  intimately  associ- 
ated with  Bill  Smith’s  former  triumphs  as  Sir  Ronald 
RadclifFe,  it  was  gradually  whispered  about  that  the  New- 
market crack  Glendower  might  meet  his  master  in  the  dark 
colt  from  the  ‘‘  north  countree.” 

It  was  not  that  Bill  Smith  and  his  friends  had  laid  out 
much  money  on  Belisarius,  indeed  they  were  in  no  position 
to  do  so — some  eight  hundred  pounds  at  long  odds  had 
been  the  sum-total  of  their  collective  outlay  ; true  they  had 
also  secured  various  long  shots  about  the  colt  for  the 
Derby  ; but  none  of  them  were  in  a position  to  risk  much 
money  on  a race  of  any  kind,  let  them  fancy  it  ever  so 
dearly.  Sir  Ronald,  as  bold  a plunger  as  ever  was  seen, 
had  from  such  reckless  speculation  so  crippled  his  resources 
that  a monkey  was  the  utmost  left  to  him  to  venture. 
Much  less  contented  Bill  Smith  and  Norman  Slade ; and 
therefore  it  was  sheerly  the  money  of  the  people  and  a few 


THE  TWO  THOUSAND.  145 

astute  Turfites  that  forced  Belisarius  into  a prominent  place 
in  the  betting. 

If  there  is  one  thing  the  speculative  public  are  specially 
fond  of  in  connection  with  a race-horse  it  is  a dark  colt  in 
the  hands  of  a well-known  man  at  long  odds.  And  this 
w’as  just  the  year  to  foment  such  a fancy.  It  was  all  very 
well  to  say  Glendower  must  win,  but  to  back  Glendower 
meant  the  taking  of  a very  short  price  about  that  noble 
animal’s  chance.  Amongst  the  others  it  was  impossible  to 
make  out  with  any  due  regard  to  their  previous  perfor- 
mances that  any  of  them  could  have  the  slightest  chance  of 
beating  the  favourite.  There  is  no  telling  how  good  a 
horse  may  be  that  has  never  run ; it  is  equally  true  that 
the  converse  of  the  proposition  holds  good. 

“ Bill  Smith  is  a clever  man,”  argued  the  public,  “ and 
is  a great  horseman  still,  if  he  chooses  to  take  care  of  him- 
self ; it  is  quite  evident  that  he  fancies  this  colt  of  his,  and 
there  is  no  better  judge  than  he  , surely  he  will  keep  steady 
to  ride  his  own  horse,  and  if  he  only  does  that  old  Bill’s 
good  enough  to  tackle  the  very  best  of  ’em  yet.”  And  thus 
reasoning  the  ever-sanguine  army  of  backers  began,  with 
that  heroic  constancy  that  ever  characterises  them,  to  stake 
their  money  freely  on  Belisarius.  In  vain  did  bookmakers 
ask  each  other  what  this  might  mean.  The  cry  had  gone 
forth  that  Belisarius  “ was  good  goods  for  The  Guineas.” 
And  those  who  went  down  to  the  lists  and  staked,  and  their 
number  was  numerous  as  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  with  one  accord  invested  their  money  on  the  dark 
colt  of  the  North.  And  thus  it  came  to  pass,  that  as  the 
race  drew  nigh  Belisarius  was  installed  a second  favourite. 
It  was  rumoured  indeed  that,  though  quoted  at  two  or 
three  points  longer  odds  in  the  betting,  he  for  all  that 
carried  more  money  than  the  hitnerto  unbeaten  Glendower. 

Norman  Slade  and  his  brother  conspirator.  Sir  Ronald, 
were  in  as  high  a state  of  excitement  as  it  was  possible  for 
two  veteran  Turfites  to  arrive  at.  Every  two  or  three  days 
brought  Norman  Slade  a mysterious  telegram  from  Bella- 
ton  Moor,  couched  in  agricultural  language  that  must  have 
somewhat  mystified  the  clerks  on  the  transmission  of  the 
message.  Such  intelligence  as  “ Sheep  doing  well,”  “ Mut- 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


146 

ton  still  commands  a good  price,”  etc.,  etc.,  seemed  hardly 
worth  flashing  through  the  wires,  but  all  such  messages 
conveyed  to  Slade  the  assurance  that  Belisarius  was  pro- 
gressing favourably  and  was  in  the  best  of  health.  There 
are  two  more  of  our  acquaintances  who  are  also  much  in- 
terested in  the  coming  result  of  the  Two  Thousand,  and 
these  are  Bertie  Slade  and  young  Devereux.  Norman,  as 
was  his  custom,  had  written  to  his  favourite  nephew  some 
three  or  four  weeks  back,  and  informed  him  that  if  he 
would  like  to  have  a bet  upon  The  Guineas  he  could  stand 
a tenner  in  his,  Norman’s,  book.  Now  it  so  happened  that 
when  he  received  this  letter  Charlie  Devereux  was  sitting 
in  his  quarters,  and  had  just  been  unbosoming  himself  of 
his  troubles  with  regard  to  those  bills.  The  Major’s-friendly 
assistance  had  of  course  proved  only  temporary  ; the  ques- 
tion had,  as  it  inevitably  must,  reopened  itself  once  more, 
with  the  unpleasant  addition  that,  like  the  snowball,  these 
bills  had  gathered  bulk  as  time  rolled  on.  Charlie  had 
taken  very  much  to  Slade  almost  from  the  very  first ; to 
begin  with,  he  might  have  been  said  to  almost  owe  his  com- 
mission to  Gilbert ; then,  again,  he  had  all  the  admiration 
that  a facile  disposition  always  has  for  a hard  reticent  char- 
acter so  exactly  its  antithesis.  The  trouble  of  these  bills 
weighed  heavy  on  the  young  man  as  it  is  wont  to  do  with 
young  men  who  are  so  free  with  their  autograph  in  the 
dawn  of  pecuniary  difficulties.  He  had  just  made  a clean 
breast  of  it  to  Gilbert. 

“ I can’t  go  to  the  governor  about  it.  You  see,  he  has 
just  had  to  shell  out  an  awful  lot  of  money  for  the  outfit, 
horses,  etc.,  to  say  nothing  of  his  having  had  to  pay  up  a 
good  bit  for  me  when  I was  at  Cambridge.” 

“ Well,  you  see,  Master  Charlie,  this  is  rather  a stiff 
order  ; to  get  you  out  of  your  scrape  requires  a thousand 
pounds,  and  I tell  you  honestly,  unless  your  father  wiU 
assist  you,  I don’t  see  to  whom  you  can  apply.  Very  few 
of  us  are  blest  with  a relation  whom  we  can  ask  to  help  us 
over  such  a shocking  tall  stile  as  this.  Let  me  think,” 
and  for  a few  minutes  Gilbert  Slade  stared  into  the  fire, 
and  seemed  wrapped  in  thought. 

To  4o  Charlie  justice,  no  idea  of  seeking  any  other  aid 


THE  TWO  THOUSANa 


U7 

than  advice  had  ever  crossed  his  brain  when  he  confided 
his  troubles  to  his  new  friend  As  for  Gilbert,  if  only  half- 
a-dozen  years  older  in  age,  he  was  many  years  older  in 
knowledge  of  the  world  than  his  comrade.  “ A deuced  bad 
start,*’  he  thought,  “ for  a young  one  to  join  hampered  in 
this  way ; of  course  he  must  come  to  his  governor  in  the 
end,  but,  as  he  says,  it  is  rather  an  inopportune  moment  to 
bring  his  necessities  before  him  just  now.** 

“ Now,  Devereux,**  he  said,  at  last,  “ I’ve  thought  it  aU 
over,  and  I’ll  tell  you  what  vou  must  do.  It  is  clear  as 
noonday  that  your  father  will  nave  to  pay  those  bills  sooner 
or  later  You  ought  to  have  made  a clean  breast  of  it 
when  you  w^ere  gazetted,  and  told  him  then  and  there,  that, 
unless  he  was  prepared  to  pay  that  sum  for  you,  your  join- 
ing the  regiment  was  an  impossibility.  No  use  talking  any 
more  about  that,  you  didn’t  do  it.  The  question  is,  What 
you  had  better  do  now  ? First  of  all,  you  must  write 
to  Kynaston,  and  ask  him  on  what  terms  he  can  make 
arrangements  for  carrying  over  those  bills  for  another  six 
months ; secondly,  I can  put  you  in  the  way  of  a chance 
of  winning  as  much  money  as  might  suffice  for  that  pur- 
pose. It  won’t  pay  them,  but  it  will  possibly  obviate  the 
necessity  of  going  to  the  home  authorities  for  another  six 
months.” 

“ That  would  be  a great  point,”  replied  Charlie,  ever 
willing  to  postpone  the  unpleasant  explanation  if  possible, 
and  at  the  same  time  keen  to  learn  what  it  was  his  friend 
was  about  to  recommend,  for  he  already  conjectured  that 
the  opportunity  of  winning  money  Gilbert  spoke  of  was  in 
some  way  connected  with  the  Turf. 

I’ve  just  heard  from  my  Uncle  Norman,”  replied  the 
other,  “ and  he  has  offered  to  let  me  stand  in  ten  pounds 
with  him  about  a horse  he  has  backed  for  The  Guineas. 
Now,  if  you  like,  this  time  to.  I’ll  ask  him  to  let  me  have  a 
pony,  and  we  will  go  halves  in  it.  It  won’t  make  much 
difference  to  you  if  you  do  lose  those  few  pounds.” 

“ What’s  the  horse  ?”  exclaimed  Charlie.  Gilbert  Slade 
laughed  as  he  replied,  “ When  my  Uncle  Gilbert  dis- 
tributes his  benefits  he  takes  very  good  care  there  shall  be 
no  idle  babbling.  I can't  tell  you,  because  I don’t  know. 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


148 

He  makes  me  that  offer,  and  all  he  says  is,  ‘ The  horse  will 
run  well,  and  stands  at  very  much  longer  odds  at  present 
than  he  has  any  business  to  do/  Those  who  know  Nor- 
man Slade  will  tell  you  that’s  a good  deal  for  him  to  say, 
and  I put  much  more  faith  in  it  than  I should  in  the  most 
glowing  account  of  any  one  else.” 

“ It’s  very  good  of  you,  and  I’m  only  too  glad  of  the 
chance.  I hope  we  shall  have  the  excitement  of  knowing 
what  the  horse  is  before  the  race  is  won.” 

“•Never  fear,”  replied  Bertie  ; “ there’s  no  more  business- 
like man  than  my  uncle.  Two  or  three  days  before  the 
race  I shall  get  a line  containing  the  exact  note  of  the  bet ; 
but  Uncle  Norman  is  always  mute  as  the  grave  about 
stable  secrets  till  it  is  too  late  for  their  disclosure  to  be  of 
any  consequence.” 

It  is  the  morning  of  the  Two  Thousand,  and  the  furore 
for  Belisarius  had  somewhat  cooled  down.  The  horse  had 
arrived  at  Newmarket  all  right  a couple  of  days  previous, 
and  had  duly  galloped  and  been  looked  over  on  the  Heath. 
But  he  failed  to  please  the  cognoscenti.  Newmarket,  ever 
prejudiced  against  a horse  not  trained  in  their  midst, 
picked  all  sorts  of  holes  in  Belisarius.  His  action  was 
lumbering ; he  was  coachy ; he  looked  like  a non-stayer ; 
he  would  tire  to  nothing  in  the  last  two  hundred  yards. 
Such  were  the  verdicts  of  the  horse-watchers,  and  also  of 
others  who  ought  to  have  been  better  judges  of  the  northern 
colt’s  powers. 

**  Well,”  said  Sir  Ronald,  with  just  the  faintest  shade  of 
anxiety  perceptible  in  his  tone,  as  stepping  from  the 
“ special  ” he  was  met  on  the  platform  by  Norman  Slade, 
“ how’s  the  colt  ? They’ve  been  rather  knocking  him  about 
in  the  London  market  the  last  twenty-four  hours.” 

“ Frt  to  run  for  his  life,”  rejoined  Slade  ; “ and,  what’s 
equally  to  the  point,  old  Bill  is  very  fit  too.  He  is  keeping 
himself  wonderfully  quiet,  sticking  to  his  horse ; and  is  not 
to  be  drawn  into  sitting  up  and  conviviality.  He  is  in 
real  earnest  this  time ; but,  if  it  comes  oflf.  I’m  sadly  afraid 
he  will  make  up  for  his  present  self-restraint.  If  he  wins 
on  Belisarius  to-day  I’m  afraid  he’ll  make  a royal  night 
of 


THE  TWO  THOUSAND. 


149 


“ They  don’t  think  much  of  Belisarius  here,  I suppose  ?” 
said  Sir  Ronald,  as  they  got  into  the  fly  which  was  to  con- 
vey them  to  Norman  Slade's  lodgings,  so  that  the  baronet 
might  get  something  to  eat  before  starting  for  the  course. 

“ No,”  replied  Slade  ; “ Newmarket  never  believed  in  a 
north-country  horse  till  it  has  well  beaten  all  they  have 
got  to  bring  against  it.” 

On  the  Heath,  from  the  very  beginning  of  the  racing,  it 
was  matter  of  universal  comment  what  a dull  affair  the 
great  race  of  the  meeting  was  likely  to  prove.  It  was  now 
known  that  the  field  had  dwindled  down  to  half-a-dozen 
runners;  and,  though  all  of  these  were  backed  in  some 
fashion,  still  it  was  only  Glendower  and  Belisarius  who 
were  backed  in  anything  like  earnest.  As  a well-known 
member  of  the  Jockey  Club  observed,  “ If  it  hadn’t  been 
for  the  advent  of  this  dark  colt  from  the  North  the  Two 
Thousand  would  have  been  for  all  practical  purposes  a 
walk-over.”  Belisarius,  although  he  might  not  find  favour 
with  the  Newmarket  people  and  the  majority  of  racing- 
men,  yet  had  lost  none  of  his  attraction  for  the  public. 
The  dark  horse  who  had  never  yet  been  seen  on  a race- 
course, and  against  whom  five  and  six  to  one  could  be 
obtained,  had  a fascination  for  them  that  outbalanced  all 
Glendower’s  victories,  and  they  steadily  supported  their 
champion  in  defiance  of  the  sums  that  went  down  upon 
the  favourite  at  a price  that  had  gradually  shortened  to 
seven  to  four.  However,  the  saddling-bell  has  rung,  the 
competitors  are  arranged  in  the  birdcage,  and  in  a few 
minutes  more  make  their  way  down  to  the  starting-post. 
For  a moment  Bill  Smith  checks  his  horse  and  bends  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  passes  Norman  on  his  way  out. 

It’s  all  right,  Mr.  Slade,”  he  murmurs.  “ I shall  just 
come  straight  away  from  the  Dip  and  strangle  them.” 

Norman  simply  nodded  in  reply,  and  then  went  off  with 
Sir  Ronald  to  witness  the  race. 

The  tale  of  that  Two  Thousand  is  soon  told.  The  hand- 
ful of  horses  were  easily  despatched  by  the  starter,  and  run 
at  a muddling  pace  for  a good  half  the  distance.  Descend- 
ing the  hill  Glendower  assumed  the  lead  and  improved  the 
pace.  At  the  Bushes  he  came  right  away  from  his  field, 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


150 

with  the  exception  of  Belisarius,  who  was  going  strong  a 
bare  two  lengths  in  rear  on  the  whip  hand.  As  they 
breasted  the  ascent  the  north-country  colt  ran  up  to  his 
antagonist  and  challenged,  and  for  the  next  hundred  yards 
it  was  a ding-dong  struggle  between  them.  Then  Belisarius 
got  the  best  of  it,  and,  wearing  down  his  antagonist.  Bill 
Smith  came  right  away  in  the  last  fifty  yards  and  won 
easily  by  a couple  of  lengths. 

A great  cheer  rent  the  air  as  the  numbers  went  up ; but 
in  the  Jockey  Club  stand,  and  amongst  the  gentlemen 
generally,  there  was  a portentous  silence.  Neither  was 
there  much  exultation  shown  by  the  bookmakers ; it  was 
the  general  public  that  had  won  the  money,  and  it  was  the 
lungs  of  the  general  public  that  boisterously  proclaimed 
their  satisfaction  at  the  result  of  the  race. 

“ A great  coup,''  said  Slade ; “ but  nothing  to  what  we 
will  bring  off  at  Epsom.*’ 

“It  is  a coup,"  replied  the  baronet;  “and  we  ought  to 
have  a good  chance  of  winning  the  Derby,  and  our  double- 
event money  as  well.  Belisarius  appears  to  me  as  sound  a 
colt  as  ever  I looked  over.” 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Slade,  “ he  is  sound  enough  wind  and 
limb.  I’m  not  afraid  of  the  horse,  it’s  the  man.  Belisarius 
will  stand  the  training  all  right.  I wish  I felt  as  certain 
about  Bill  Smith.” 

“ I should  think  he  might  be  trusted  to  keep  steady  now 
till  after  the  Derby,”  replied  the  baronet. 

“ I don’t  know,”  replied  Norman  Slade  ; “you  see,  he 
was  short  of  money  and  shaky  of  reputation ; and  the 
bringing  off  this  Two  Thousand  meant  a good  deal  to  him. 
Men  like  Bill  don’t  thrive  upon  success.” 


XXI. — “You  Shall  Never  Marry  Him.” 

Great  was  Charlie  Devereux’s  exultation  when  the 
telegram  reached  York  containing  the  news  of  Beli- 
sarius’s  victory.  A formal  line  had  been  received  by 
Bertie  from  his  uncle  a couple  of  days  before,  in  which  he 


• YOU  SHALL  NEVER  MARRY  HIM.”  151 

notified  the  fact  that  Bertie  had  an  excessively  nice  bet  of 
six  hundred  to  twenty-five  against  Belisarius  for  The 
Guineas,  and  now  this  comfortable  stake  was  satisfactorily 
landed.  As  for  young  Devereux,  with  the  sanguine  nature 
of  youth,  he  at  once  saw  himself  clear  of  all  his  financial 
difficulties. 

“ It’s  all  your  doing,  old  fellow,”  he  cried,  as  he  clasped 
Bertie’s  hand  warmly.  “I’m  awfully  grateful;  it  was  a 
great  inspiration  of  mine  to  come  and  bore  you  with  all 
my  troubles^.” 

“ Never  mind  about  that,  but  just  bear  in  mind.  Master 
Charlie,  you’re  a long  way  off  being  out  of  the  wood  at 
present.  You’ve  won  three  hundred  pounds,  but  you  don’t 
suppose  the  holder  of  those  bills  will  let  you  renew  with- 
out a bonus,  do  you  ? You  are  in  the  hands  of  the  money- 
lenders now.  I’m  happy  to  say  I’ve  never  been  driven  to 
seek  their  services  myself;  but  I’ve  had  something  to  do 
with  them  on  behalf  of  a great  pal  of  mine,  and  am  toler- 
ably well  versed  in  the  ways  of  those  gentlemen.  The 
holder  of  those  bills,  in  the  first  place,  will  make  you  pay 
pretty  smartly  for  their  renewal.  I should  guess  about  a 
hundred  pounds.  How  are  you  going  to  pay  off  a thousand 
pounds  with  the  remaining  two  hundred  ? ” 

“ Don’t  you  see  ? ” replied  Charlie,  with  a look  of  preter- 
natural sagacity ; “of  course  I immediately  put  that  two 
hundred  on  Belisarius  for  the  Derby — he’s  at  three  to  one 
now — providing  your  uncle  fancies  his  chance.  Well,  if 
that  comes  off,  I shall  have  got  eight  hundred  together 
towards  clearing  myself.” 

“ Good  ! ” replied  Bertie ; “ how  about  the  remainder  ? 
Remember,  there’ll  be  another  six  months’  interest  on, 
which,  at  the  price  you  are  paying,  will  have  added  a 
hundred  and  fifty  to  the  original  debt.” 

“ I forgot  that,”  replied  young  Devereux,  as  his  counte- 
nance fell  somewhat;  “I  suppose  there’ll  be  nothing  for 
it,  then,  but  to  make  a clean  breast  of  it  to  the  governor.” 
“ That’s  right,”  said  Slade  ; “ you  do  that.  Wait  till 
after  the  Derby;  and  then,  win  or  lose,  let  them  know  the 
worst  at  home.  It’s  better,  anyhow,  that  you  should  be 
in  Cor  one  month’s  interest  rather  than  siiu” 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


And  so  it  was  agreed  between  them  that  Charlie  should 
'await  the  result  of  the  great  struggle  on  Epsom  Downs, 
and  then  confess  the  scrape  he  had  got  into  to  old  Tom 
Devereux. 

A very  few  days  brought  a letter  from  Major  Kynaston ; 
and  Bertie’s  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  money-lenders 
proved  only  too  accurate.  The  Major  wrote, — 

My  dear  Devereux, 

“ I have  just  made  the  best  terms  I can  with 
Jordan  & Co.,  but  they  will  have  their  pound  of  flesh,  you 
know.  Robbers,  rank  robbers,  every  one  of  them ; but 
pray  bear  in  mind  that  when  I first  suggested  your  apply- 
ing to  them  you  were  dreadfully  oppressed  by  the  weight 
of  your  obligations  to  Furzedon.  I agreed  with  you,  as 
any  man  in  the  world  would,  that,  bad  as  was  the  neces- 
sity for  seeking  assistance  from  a professional  money- 
lender, it  was  better  than  remaining  under  such  an  obliga- 
tion to  a friend  The  rascals  insist  on  having  a hundred 
down,  and  in  consideration  of  that  will  let  the  bills  run  on 
for  another  six  months,  at  fifteen  per  cent,  for  that  time. 
This  is  the  best  I can  do  for  you.  Give  me  your  consent, 
knd  enclose  a cheque  for  the  hundred,  and  you  will  hear  no 
more  of  Jordan  & Co.  for  six  months. 

••  Ever  yours, 

“Richard  Kynaston.” 

**  The  scoundrels  1 ” exclaimed  Bertie,  after  reading  this 
letter.  “ You  must  stick  to  your  resolution,  Devereux ; win 
or  lose  at  Epsom,  mind.  These  vultures  are  charging  you 
just  forty  per  cent,  for  the  accommodation.” 

Bertie  Slade  could  have  only  guessed  the  state  of  the 
case;  scoundrels  would  have  been  not  half  a strong  enough 
word  to  have  applied  to  the  robbers  into  whose  clutches 
young  Devereux  had  fallen.  In  the  first  place,  half  the 
bonus  went  into  Kynaston’s  pocket,  for  having  introduced 
Mr.  Devereux  to  Jordan  & Co.  Secondly,  as  we  already 
know,  Jordan  & Co.  was  no  other  than  Ralph  Furzedon. 
Consequently,  poor  Charlie  in  reality  was  being  shamelessly 


‘YOU  SHALL  NEVER  MARRY  HIM/*  153 

stripped  and  plundered  by  a couple  of  men  whom  he  looked 
upon  as  intimate  friends. 

The  following  week  brought  a most  satisfactory  letter 
from  Norman  Slade,  intimating  that  he  had  paid  six  hun- 
dred pounds  into  Bertie’s  account  at  Cox’s,  and  saying 
that  he  fancied  Belisarius’s  chance  for  the  Derby  very 
much.  “ The  Two  Thousand  Guineas,”  he  went  on  to 
say,  “ was  a good  public  trial ; and  I can  only  say,  he  beat 
Glendower  a good  deal  more  easily  than  we  expected.  He 
is  as  well  now  as  one  could  wish  him  ; and,  should  he  only 
continue  so,  it  will  take  a right  good  colt  to  beat  him 
at  Epsom,”  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  this  letter 
thoroughly  confirmed  Charlie  Devereux  in  his  resolution. 
He  sent  off  the  required  cheque  to  Kynaston,  and  forth- 
with proceeded  to  put  the  remainder  of  his  winnings  on 
Belisarius  for  the  Epsom  race ; and  that  done,  as  he  said 
to  Bertie  Slade,  “ There  is  nothing  now  for  me  to  do  but 
to  sit  down  and  wait.  I feel  like  a man  who  has  insured 
himself  to  the  extent  of  his  ability.” 

“Yes,”  rejoined  Slade,  laughing,  “we  can  only  trust 
that  the  insurance  office  may  not  prove  a bogus  concern. 
Such  insurance  as  yours  is  hardly  recommended  by  our 
grave  and  reverend  signors.” 

“ What  a disagreeable  beast  you  are,  Bertie,”  cried 
young  Devereux,  laughing ; “ I don’t  see  why  you  should 
always  take  such  a gloomy  view  of  my  affairs.” 

“ Not  at  all,”  rejoined  Slade,  “you’ll  pull  through  all 
right  enough ; I was  only  laughing  at  the  queer  view  you 
take  of  things.  You  speak  as  if  you  had  done  a highly  vir- 
tuous action  in  endeavouring  to  extricate  yourself  from 
your  difficulties  by  putting  every  shilling  you  can  lay  your 
hands  on  on  this  race.  I doubt,  for  instance,  if  your 
father  wcaild  quite  view  it  in  that  light.” 

“Don’t  preach,  Bertie;  I cannot  work,  and  to  beg  I am 
ashamed.  If  I only  knew  how  to  make  this  money  by 
work,  you’d  see  I wouldn’t  flinch  from  it.  This  is  my  sole 
chance;  and  I don’t  see  much  harm  in  dashing  down  my 
winnings  again.” 

“Nor  is  there,”  rejoined  Bertie,  still  laughing,  “only 
don’t  take  quite  such  a high  moral  tone  about  it.  Hur- 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


JS4 

rah  for  Belisarius ! I shall  trust  him  with  a pony  myself, 
just  to  pay  expenses;  and,  if  all’s  well,  in  the  Derby 
week  well  run  up  and’"^ee  the  race.  A week’s  leave  is 
always  given  to  all  who  wish  to  assist  in  that  festival.’* 

Mr.  Furzedon,  during  the  autumn  months,  had  been 
turning  over  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  advice  in  his  own  mind.  He 
had  at  last  come  to  the  conclusion,  considerably  swayed  in 
his  judgment,  be  it  borne  in  mind,  by  the  aforesaid  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  that  Lettice  Devereux  would  make  him  a very 
suitable  wife.  Shrewd,  quick-witted,  and  cynical,  the  man 
judged  for  himself,  and  pretty  accurately,  in  that  world  he 
knew — the  world  of  the  race-course,  of  club,  smoking- 
rooms,  of  the  stage,  the  demi-monde ; but  of  that  social 
world  to  which  he  aspired  Ralph  Furzedon  was  not  only 
very  ignorant,  but  credulous  in  the  extreme  to  those  whom 
he  believed  to  have  its  entree. 

The  Kynastons  he  thoroughly  believed  to  possess  this 
passport.  That  Dick  Kynaston  was  what  he  was  did  not 
in  the  least  surprise  Furzedon  ; he  was  quite  prepared  for 
lax  morality  in  high  places.  The  papers  unfortunately 
bear  pretty  constant  evidence  that  the  cream  of  society  is 
no  better  than  its  humbler  brethren  on  those  points.  What 
did  tickle  Ralph  Furzedon  amazingly  was,  that  while  he 
as  a tacit  partner  with  Kynaston  was,  when  opportunity 
served,  introducing  young  men  with  expectations  to  the 
Major,  that  worthy — all  unconscious — was  bringing  them 
back  to  Jordan  & Co.,  alias  Ralph  Furzedon,  for  relief  of 
their  necessities. 

But  in  Mrs.  Kynaston  Mr.  Furzedon  believed  immensely. 
He  looked  upon  her  as  a clever  woman,  moving  in  the  very 
best  society,  and,  to  use  his  own  expression,  Knowing 
the  ropes,  able  to  hold  her  own  with  the  best ; little  likely 
to  make  any  mistake  in  her  judgment  of  things.*  “ And,” 
said  Ralph  Furzedon  to  himself,  “ this  woman  looks  upon 
it  that  Lettice  Devereux  will  give  any  man  with  a little 
money,  who  marries  her,  a great  social  start.” 

In  almost  any  other  groove  of  life  the  man  would  have 
depended  upon  his  own  judgment,  but  upon  this  point  he 
was  not  only  crazed  but  conscious  of  his  ignorance.  We 
have  all  our  ambitions ; and  Ralph  Furzedon’s  was  to  force 


••you  shall  never  marry  him/'  is? 

his  way  into  the  best  society.  He  had  always  admired 
Lettice,  but  had  never  dreamt  of  her  as  a wife  till  the  idea 
had  been  distilled  into  his  mind  by  Mrs.  Kynaston.  He 
had  plenty  of  assurance,  and  perhaps  rated  his  personal 
appearance  as  high  as  most  people.  He  was  a good-look- 
ing man,  but  there  was  that  indefinable  something  which 
the  moment  he  came  amongst  experts  would  be  certain  to 
arouse  curiosity  as  to  his  antecedents.  Still,  with  all  his 
self-confidence,  though  he  hardly  liked  to  admit  it,  he  had 
a hazy  idea  that  Lettice  Devereux  was  not  quite  the  girl 
to  be  had  for  the  asking  ; that  she  was  a young  lady  upon 
whom  the  revelation  of  his  wealth  might  produce  but  little 
impression  ; and,  moreover,  that  she  was  quite  capable  of 
not  being  properly  impressed  with  all  the  advantages — 
personal  and  otherwise — that  he  was  prepared  to  lay  at 
her  feet. 

Like  the  astute  calculator  he  was,  Mr.  Furzedon  at  once 
began  to  reckon  what  trumps  he  held  in  his  hand.  He 
thought  he  could  depend  upon  Mrs.  Kynaston  to  forward 
his  interests,  and  he  looked  upon  her  as  a very  tower  of 
strength  could  he  but  prevail  upon  her  to  espouse  his 
cause.  “Then,”  he  thought,  with  an  evil  smile,  “there 
are  those  bills  of  Charlie’s;  a cornet  in  a fast  Dragoon 
regiment  is  not  likely  to  get  much  nearer  liquidating  them, 
and  they  grow,  they  grow.  I wonder,  by  the  way,  how 
the  deuce  he  found  that  last  hundred  to  renew  with ! 
Well,  well,  sisters  before  now  have  been  known  to  wed  to 
help  a favourite  brother  out  of  a scrape ; when  the  time 
comes,  I trust  Lettice  Devereux  will  be  too  entangled  to 
escape.  I wish  that  fellow  Slade  didn’t  hang  about  her 
quite  so  much.  Unlucky  for  me,  Charlie  getting  into  the 
same  regiment ; she  is  likely  to  see  more  of  him  on  that 
account ; and,  from  all  I can  make  out,  it  strikes  me  he 
has  no  idea  of  neglecting  such  opportunities  as  fall  in  his 
way.  If  he  ever  wants  to  borrow  money  I’d  make  it  easy 
for  him.  I’d  risk  a good  deal  to  get  him  upon  my  books.” 

“ I suppose  you  have  given  up  all  hope  of  seeing  Charlie 
down  again  this  season?”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  one  after- 
noon that  Lettie  had  ridden  over  to  call  upon  her. 

••  Yes ; he  declares  that  he  cannot  get  away,  and  raves 


156 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


about  the  sport  he  is  having  with  the  York  and  Ainsty, 
and  how  splendidly  Pole  Star  carries  him.  Brothers  are 
awfully  selfish.  No  ; I didn’t  quite  mean  that ; but  Charlie 
knew  I had  so  reckoned  upon  his  coming  down  and  our 
having  a few  more  gallops  together.” 

“ Ah,  well,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston,  “ men  are  fond  of 
change  ; and  just  at  present  your  brother  is  dazzled  with 
all  the  glitter  of  a mess,  and  the  swagger  of  a military  life 
generally.  Still,  I do  wonder  he  has  not  come  home.  I 
should  have  thought  he  would  have  been  unable  to  resist 
the  pressure  put  upon  him.” 

“ I’m  sure  I’ve  said  all  I can,”  replied  Miss  Devereux. 

“ Ah,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  a most  provoking 
smile,  ‘‘  I was  thinking  of  a much  stronger  influence  than 
yours,  my  dear.  If  Mr.  Slade  had  been  as  much  in  earnest 

as  we  had  thought  him ” 

“ You  have  no  right  to  say  we,”  interrupted  Lettie  hotly; 

“ I am  sure  I never  thought ” 

“ Of  course  not,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Kynaston  in  her 
turn,  “ as  I thought  him,  he’d  have  made  Charlie  bring 
him  down  to  North  Leach  before  now.” 

“ There  is  nothing  to  prevent  Mr.  Slade  coming  here  on 
his  own  account,  if  he  pleases.  Father  gave  him  a general 
invitation  to  come  and  have  a few  days  with  the  Brockles- 
by  any  time  he  liked  this  winter.” 

“ What,  when  you  were  at  Lincoln  ?”  replied  Mrs.  Ky- 
naston. 

Lettie  nodded. 

“ He  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  shown  himself  keen  to 
take  advantage  of  the  invitation.” 

“ I suppose  he  waited  to  come  with  Charlie,  and  now  he 
finds  Charlie  can’t  come  it  is  getting  too  late.” 

“ I don’t  believe  in  that  ‘ can’t  come.’  I know  too  much 
of  soldiering  for  that.  A man  may  not  be  able  to  get  away 
a certain  week,  but  don’t  tell  me  he  can’t  get  away  any 
week  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  Depend  upon  it,  Mr. 
Slade  has  not  been  half  a dozen  years  in  the  army  without 
being  able  to  tell  your  brother  how  a trifle  like  that  might 
be  managed.” 

Now  out  of  her  military  lore  Mrs.  Kynaston  did  know 


YOU  SHALL  NEVER  MARRY  HIM.' 


157 


that  Charlie  would  have  most  likely  some  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining leave  just  at  present,  but  she  was  anxious  for  her 
own  purposes  to  make  Miss  Devereux  believe  that  Gilbert 
Slade  was  not  in  earnest  in  his  attentions.  He  had  no 
doubt  shown  much  devotion  to  Lettice  during  the  latter 
part  of  his  stay  in  town.  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  not  been 
present  at  the  Lincoln  autumn  races  ; but  she  had  gathered 
that  Gilbert  had  hardly  left  Lettie’s  side  the  whole  day, 
and  had  heartily  accepted  old  Tom  Devereux’s  cordial 
invitation  to  “ come  and  bite  a bit  with  us,  Mr.  Slade,  and 
have  a look  at  the  hunt  in  our  country.*' 

But  many  such  invitations  are  given  every  year,  and, 
though  both  sides  are  thoroughly  in  earnest  in  the  contract, 
circumstances  forbid  their  ever  coming  to  pass.  Mrs. 
Kynaston  was  too  wise  to  say  more,  but  she  had  attained 
her  object  in  some  measure.  Lettie's  pride  had  taken  fire 
at  the  thought  that  she  was  beginning  to  think  seriously 
about  a man  who  was  simply  indulging  himself  in  an  idle 
flirtation  with  her. 

“ Have  you  seen  anything  of  your  other  admirer  ? ” 
asked  Mrs.  Kynaston,  after  a rather  prolonged  pause. 

“ My  other  admirer  ? *’  replied  Lettie ; “ I’m  sure  I don't 
know  who  you  mean — I certainly  can  count  perhaps  half- 
a-score  men  who  were  very  civil  to  me,  and  liked  to  dance 
with  me,  but  I really  couldn’t  single  out  one  with  any  ap- 
parent desire  for  anything  more." 

“ How  innocent  we  are,"  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston,  laugh- 
ing. “ My  dear  Lettie,  you  don’t  require  to  be  told  that 
Mr.  Furzedon  adores  the  very  ground  you  walk  on." 

“ Nonsense,"  replied  Miss  Devereux,  “ he  has  always 
been  civil,  as  an  intimate  friend  of  Charlie’s  naturally 
would  be,  but  I’m  sure  he  has  never  said  a word  of  the 
kind  you  suggest  to  me — and  what’s  more  I don’t  think  I 
much  like  Mr.  Furzedon." 

“ I w’ouldn't  be  in  too  great  a hurry  to  make  up  my  mind 
about  that,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  “ he  is  a good-looking 
man,  and  Dick  tells  me  he  has  lots  of  money.  I assure 
you  many  girls  would  think  twice  before  they  would  say 
Kalph  Furzedon  nay." 

•‘Well,  it  dgesn’t  matter,"  rejoined  Lettie.  “You  are 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


158 

quite  mistaken ; it  is  not  likely  I shall  be  called  upon  to 
decide  that  question  ; and  now  I must  scamper  home,  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  ring  for  my  horse.”  A few  minutes 
more,  and  Miss  Devereux  had  said  “good-bye.”  Mrs. 
Kynaston  stood  watching  her  as  she  mounted.  “ Yes,” 
she  muttered,  “ I like  you  better  than  any  girl  I ever  met  ; 
and  I’d  have  been  loyal  to  you,  too,  Lettie,  if  Gilbert  Slade 
had  not  come  between  us ; but  I cannot  give  him  up  to 
you.  You  shall  never  marry  him,  if  it  is  within  my  power 
to  prevent  it.” 


XXII.— Mr.  Black’s  Tip. 

The  winter  presses  hard  upon  the  poorer  classes  gener- 
ally ; work  becomes  scarce,  and  days  become  short, 
just  as  we  seem  to  require  more  light,  more  food,  more 
fire,  more  clothes,  more  everything.  Our  wants  expand  as 
the  means  to  supply  them  shorten  ; or,  sad  to  say,  in  some 
cases  disappear  altogether.  The  sole  trade  that  seems  to 
thrive  in  this  dark  time  is  that  of  the  burglar,  who  finds 
the  season  propitious  ; and,  if  he  has  the  good  fortune  to 
evade  the  emissaries  of  the  law,  easily  acquires  the  where- 
withal to  indulge  in  the  riotous  living  in  which  his  soul 
delighteth.  Upon  no  class,  perhaps,  does  a hard  winter 
press  more  heavily  than  the  hangers-on  of  the  Turf:  men 
who,  while  racing  is  going  on,  pick  up  a mysterious  living 
as  small  bookmakers,  as  horse-watchers,  as  turf-advisers 
to  young  (can’t  be  too  young)  gentlemen.  I am  speaking 
of  those  who  are  “ indifferent  honest.”  As  for  the  scum, 
who  are  a disgrace  to  our  racecourses,  it  is  more  than  pro- 
bable that  they  take  to  burglary  during  the  winter  months  ; 
having  spent  the  summer  in  robbery,  there  would  be  no- 
thing repugnant  to  their  feelings  in  housebreaking  during 
the  close  term. 

But,  to  see  these  small  betting-men,  who  in  the  summer 
season  are  so  blatant,  boisterous,  and  self-assured,  habited 
in  white  hat,  and  the  remarkable  coats  they  affect,  and 
to  see  Um|>,  luckless  individuals,  who  with  dilapi- 


MR.  BLACK'S  TIP. 


IS9 


dated  hat,  scanty  raiment,  and  broken  boots,  who  in  hoarse 
tones,  more  graphically  designated  a “ gin-and-fog  voice,” 
murmur  into  your  ears  a hope  that  you  can  spare  half-a- 
crown,  or  peradventure  half-a-sovereign,  to  assist  a broken- 
down  sportsman.  To  see  them,  I repeat,  in  the  chrysalis 
form,  it  is  hard  to  believe  them  to  be  the  same  individuals. 
The  brazen  self-assurance  is  all  out  of  them  now  ; and  they 
really  are  as  hard  put  to  it  for  a living  as  any  class  in 
modern  Babylon.  'They  are  to  be  met  with,  for  the  most 
part,  anywhere  between  Charing  Cross  and  St.  Paul’s 
Cathedral ; they  gravitate  principally  towards  the  Ludgate 
Circus.  Among  these  men,  Sam  Prance  was  a good  typical 
specimen  of  his  class ; he  had  begun  life  as  assistant  to  a 
pawnbroker,  and  that  pawnbroker  had  been  Ralph  Furze- 
don’s  uncle  ; hence  had  arisen  a connection  between  them. 
What  had  produced  the  undying  enmity  which  Prance 
bore  to  the  man  who  now  stood  in  his  dead  master’s  shoes 
is  about  to  be  explained.  From  his  boyish  days  Ralph 
Furzedon  was  precocious,  vicious,  and  cunning;  and  even 
at  fifteen  began  to  gamble  on  the  turf.  He  was  liberall}/ 
supplied  with  money  by  his  guardians,  and  the  Jewish  in- 
stinct in  his  veins  led  him  even  then  to  turn  over  such  capital 
as  he  possessed  by  speculating  in  the  unredeemed  pledges 
in  his  uncle’s  shop.  He  would  often,  with  the  assistance 
of  Prance,  invest  money,  say  in  the  purchase  of  a ring. 
This  would  be  left  exposed  for  sale  in  the  shop  window. 
In  the  course  of  two  or  three  weeks  a pound  or  two  profit 
would  usually  be  realised  by  the  sale  of  it.  Such  profits 
young  Furzedon,  again  through  Prance,  invested  on  the 
turf ; he  was  shrewd,  he  was  fortunate,  and  the  result  of 
his  betting  was  decidedly  profitable. 

The  first  thing  fatal  to  Prance  in  his  connection  was, 
that  he  too  got  bitten  with  a taste  for  turf  speculation. 
Like  all  beginners,  he  was  lucky  at  first,  and  this  led  to 
too  great  intimacy  between  young  Ralph  and  himself. 
Furzedon  became  an  habitual  visitor  at  Prance’s  house. 
Mrs.  Prance  was  a pretty  and  extremely  vain  young 
woman ; the  compliments  and  attentions  of  her  visitor 
turned  her  head ; don’t  mistake  me,  and  think  there  was 
anything  as  yet  further  than  the  most  open  flirtation 


i6o 


SADDLE  AND  SABRB. 


between  them,  but  Furzedon’s  flatteries  sank  deep  into 
Mrs.  Prance’s  mind.  That  she  was  a very  pretty  woman, 
and  that  if  she  was  only  properly  dressed  she  would  have 
the  world  at  her  feet,  became  part  of  Mrs.  Prance’s  creed. 
Sam  was  making  money ; it  was  ridiculous,  he  must  allow 
her  more  for  dress.  They  must  live  in  better  style,  and  so 
Prance  was  gradually  worried  into  giving  up  the  modest 
and  comfortable  tenement  in  which  he  had  dwelt  for  the 
last  three  years  in  favour  of  a showy,  comfortless,  suburban 
villa.  He  vowed  he  couldn’t  afford  it,  but,  for  all  that, 
he  took  it. 

Mrs.  Prance  was  not  an  atom  in  love  with  her  boyish 
admirer,  but  for  all  that  she  was  very  proud  of  her  captive ; 
he  belonged  to  a class  superior  to  her  own,  at  all  events  in 
her  eyes,  and  the  lady  had  a halcyon  dream  of  being 
surrounded  by  a knot  of  admirers — gentlemen — and  not 
mere  tradesmen,  like  most  of  her  husband’s  friends.  Well! 
the  sequel  was  not  long  in  coming.  Luck  turned,  and 
Prance,  who  had  been  very  far  from  confining  his  specula- 
tions to  such  as  were  deemed  advisable  by  his  young 
patron,  got  into  difficulties,  the  usual  result  was  the 
consequence.  Sam  Prance,  if  he  did  not  actually,  meta- 
phorically “ put  his  hand  in  the  till ; ” he  was  detected  in 
dishonest  practices  by  his  master,  and  though  old  Nicholas 
Furzedon  declined  to  prosecute,  yet  Mr.  Prance  was 
promptly  turned  out  of  his  situation,  and  told  that  he  need 
look  for  no  recommendation  from  his  employer  to  assist 
him  in  procuring  another,  that  he  might  consider  himself 
fortunate  to  have  escaped  the  inside  of  a prison. 

And  now  came  slow  and  grinding  misery  for  Sam  Prance, 
his  goods  were  sold,  and  he  had  to  move  into  shabby 
lodgings,  carrying  with  him  a peevish,  discontented  wife. 
With  the  final  catastrophe  Furzedon  directly  had  nothing 
to  do  ; whether  his  relations  latterly  had  been  as  innocent 
with  Mrs.  Prance  as  the  lady  protested,  her  husband  had 
many  jealous  misgivings,  but  certain  it  was,  that  when 
after  months  of  wrangling  she  finally  left  her  home 
Furzedon  was  not  the  partner  of  her  flight.  From  that 
date.  Prance  regarded  Furzedon  as  the  originator  of  all 
troubles ; despairing  of  employment,  he  h&d  sunk  into 


MR.  BLACK'S  TIP. 


i6i 


a mere  jackal  of  the  racecourse,  and  when  times  grew  hard 
with  him  appealed  to  Furzedon  for  assistance,  this,  in  the 
first  instance,  had  been  somewhat  grudgingly  extended,  ^ 
but  no  sooner  did  that  gentleman  detect  an  obvious  dis- 
position on  Prance’s  part  to  live  upon  him  than  he  repelled 
him  with  the  utmost  scorn  ; he  even  taunted  the  wretched 
man  wfith  his  bad  luck,  and  declared  that  his  wife  had 
been  right  to  leave  so  pitiful  a creature.  The  idea  that  at 
first  possessed  Prance’s  morbid  mind  seethed  and  festered. 
He  traced  every  ill  that  had  befallen  him  to  Furzedon’s 
door.  It  was  true  enough  that,  in  some  fashion,  it  had 
been  Ralph  Furzedon’s  precocious  devilry  that  had 
v/rought  his  undoing,  but,  for  all  that,  his  own  weakness 
and  cupidity  had  not  a little  to  say  to  it.  Further  applica- 
tions for  assistance  were  met  with  still  more  bitter 
rejoinders  on  Furzedon’s  part,  until  the  quarrel  between 
them  finally  culminated  when,  flushed  by  drink.  Prance 
had  attempted  to  rob  Furzedon  that  night  in  the  Hay- 
market,  and  been  stricken  to  the  ground.  A righteous 
blow  was  that  cruel  left-hander,  a blow  such  as  a man  is 
well  justified  in  defence  of  his  property,  but  it  filled  to  the 
brim  the  cup  of  Sam  Prance’s  animosity,  and  his  own 
prayer  was  that  the  day  might  come  when  the  opportunity 
would  be  given  him  to  settle  accounts  with  Ralph  Furzedon. 
He  was  quite  aware  that  he  held  many  secrets  of  that 
gentleman,  and  information  as  to  his  mode  of  life,  which, 
though  in  no  way  inimical  to  him  in  a legal  sense,  might, 
deftly  promulgated  at  the  proper  moment,  be  his  social 
ruin,  and  no  Indian  on  the  war-trail  bided  his  opportunity 
with  more  vengeful  vigilance  than  did  Sam  Prance. 

Fortune,  it  so  happened,  was  throwing  the  chance  he 
longed  for  into  his  way.  Major  Kynaston  was  one  of  Mr. 
Prance’s  most  liberal  patrons.  The  broken  man  had  con- 
ceived a strong  liking  for  the  Major ; he  knew  him  to  be 
no  fool,  though  he  was  free-handed.  He  would  toss  his 
jackal  a sovereign  sometimes,  saying  good-humouredly, 
“Your  information  is  not  worth  a cent.  I’ve  later  myself 
concerning  the  horse;  and  know  that,  however  well  you 
saw  it  gallop  last  Friday  morning,  it  will  not  be  seen  at 
the  post ; the  stable  can’t  get  their  money  on.  Never 


1 62 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


mind ; you’re  hard  up,  as  usual,  I daresay;  take  that,  adid 
perhaps  next  time  you  will  be  able  to  tell  me  something 
better  worth  knowing.” 

So  far,  Mr.  Prance  was  in  ignorance  of  the  connection 
between  the  Major  and  Furzedon.  That  they  were 
acquainted  he  was  aware.  He  had  seen  them  speak  on  a 
racecourse,  but  he  had  no  idea  that  their  acquaintance 
was  other  than  of  the  most  ordinary  description.  Still,  it 
is  more  than  likely  that  a clue  to  their  association  will  be 
before  long  in  Sam  Prance’s  hands,  though  what  use  he 
will  be  able  to  make  of  such  knowledge  when  he  comes  to 
it  is  not  quite  so  clear. 

Sam  Prance  had  lived  through  the  winter  months  he 
really  hardly  knew  how,  but  never  had  he  been  harder  put 
to  it  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door  than  he  had  this  time. 
It  was  the  period  of  the  year  at  which  there  was  little 
chance  of  his  running  across  his  racing  patrons,  men  to 
whom  he  could  appeal  in  extremity.  He  had  the  address, 
it  is  true,  of  some  of  these  who  employed  him  as  a tout, 
and  rewarded  him  for  such  information  as  he  might  send 
them ; but  a man  like  Prance,  who  had  not  the  means 
requisite  for  leaving  London,  had  small  opportunity  of 
picking  up  intelligence,  and  to  all  other  appeals  his 
patrons  had  mostly  turned  a deaf  ear.  Dick  Kynaston 
was  a bright  exception.  Like  most  buccaneers,  the 
Major,  as  before  said,  was  free-handed.  He  had  been  for- 
tunate during  the  autumn  months,  whether  by  cards  or 
racing  matters  little ; and  had  contrived  in  his  own  ver- 
nacular, “ to  land  a nice  little  pot.”  He  replied  to 
Prance’s  piteous  cry  for  assistance  by  sending  him  a five- 
pound  note,  and  the  man  felt  more  than  ever  grateful  for 
such  help  in  his  present  extremity.  With  the  season  Mr. 
Prance  resumed  his  regular  vocation ; he  was  by  turns 
tout,  betting-man,  and  tipster.  As  a tout  he  had  no  infcr- 
^mation  to  impart,  to  resume  the  calling  of  a betting-man 
he  must  first  acquire  some  small  amount  of  capital,  but  to 
i.  be  a tipster  requires  nothing  beyond  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
and  a modest  amount  of  postage-stamps.  But  Mr.  Prance 
was  dead  out  of  luck,  and  even  his  guesses  at  the  winners 
of  the  Lincolnshire  Handicap,  etc.,  proved  unfortunate, 


MR.  black’s  tip. 


163 


Men  are  not  given  to  reward  the  giver  of  information 
which  leads  to  the  loss  of  their  money.  And,  therefore, 
this  latter  industry,  let  him  cultivate  it  never  so  sedulously, 
brought  little  grist  to  Mr.  Prance’s  mill.  But  April  had 
brought  a change  in  his  fortunes ; he  was  walking  gloomily 
up  the  Strand,  when  he  suddenly  ran  across  a bookmaker 
with  whom  he  had  done  business  in  more  prosperous  days. 
The  thought  struck  him ; he  stopped  him,  and  exclaimed, 
“ Mr.  Black,  give  a poor  devil,  who  is  clean  broke,  a 
chance.** 

“ Well,  you  do  look  ‘ dead  stony,*  and  that’s  a fact,** 
rejoined  the  bookmaker.  What  is  it  you  want  ? ** 

“ Give  me  a tip,  and  a trifle  to  back  it.  I can’t  pick  a 
winner  myself  nohow.” 

“ Well,”  replied  Mr.  Black,  “ there’s  half  a sovereign  for 
you.  As  for  the  tip,  remember,  I don’t  know  much  about 
it,  but  I advise  you  to  put  it  on  Belisarius  for  the  Two 
Thousand.  You’ll  get  something  like  twelve  or  fourteen 
to  one ; at  least,  they  were  laying  hundreds  to  sevens  an 
hour  ago  in  there,”  and  Mr.  Black  jerked  his  thumb  in  the 
direction  of  the  Victoria  Club. 

How  Belisarius  won  the  Two  Thousand  we  already 
know,  and  it  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  Sam  Prance 
profited  a little  thereby.  From  that  out  he  haunted  the 
neighbourhood  of  Wellington  Street  in  the  hopes  of  once 
more  coming  across  that  good-natured  bookmaker.  It  was 
some  days  before  he  succeeded  in  doing  that : though, 
thanks  to  the  few  sovereigns  he  had  won  over  the  Two 
Thousand,  he  was  now  more  respectably  attired,  yet  he 
had  not  the  audacity  to  call  at  the  club  and  ask  for 
Mr.  Bkck.  When  you  have  been  half-starved  and  half- 
frozen  through  a long  winter  you  do  not  recover  your 
assurance  all  at  once.  Prance  had  been  so  utterly  brow- 
beaten in  his  misery  that  he  had  not  as  yet  thoroughly 
recovered  his  nerve,  and  shrank  from  meeting  a rebuff. 
Plowever,  his  patient  vigilance  was  at  last  rewarded,  and 
he  once  more  encountered  Mr.  Black.  He  of  course 
stopped  him  to  thank  him  for  the  turn  he  had  done  him, 
and  wound  up  by  asking  him  whether  he  fancied  Belisarius 
for  the  Derby, 


164 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


**  No,”  rejoined  the  bookmaker,  ‘‘  I don’t.  I know  no' 
more  now  than  I did  last  time.  I am  guided  entirely  by 
the  money-market.  On  his  Newmarket  performance  he 
ought  to  be  a much  hotter  favourite  than  he  is.  What 
they  are  going  on  I don’t  know,  but  there  are  certain  men, 
who  seldom  make  a mistake,  seem  to  have  the  amount  of 
the  National  Debt  to  lay  against  Belisarius.  That’s  all  I 
know  about  it,  Prance,  and  I should  not  be  at  all  surprised 
to  see  Belisarius  go  back  in  the  betting  at  the  last.  If  he 
don’t,  it  will  be  a very  warm  Monday  indeed  for  two  or 
three  of  them.” 

Sam  Prance,  as  he  walked  away,  cogitated  deeply  upon 
how  he  might  best  turn  Mr.  Black’s  hint  to  his  profit.  He 
had  neither  capital  nor  credit  to  make  much  of  laying 
against  Belisarius,  and  certainly,  after  what  he  had  heard, 
had  no  wish  to  back  him.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  carry  the  news  to  Major 
Kynaston. 

The  Major  would  understand  how  to  make  the  most  of 
such  intelligence  as  well  as  any  man,  and  he  knew  from 
past  experience  that  when  his  patron  won  a good  stake  he 
was  liberal  to  any  of  his  dependents  who  conduced  to  the 
result.  He  had  recommended  Kynaston  to  back  Belisarius 
for  The  Guineas,  and  found  it  quite  as  profitable  as  backing 
it  himself. 

“ The  hint  has  proved  well  worth  paying  for,  Sam,”  the 
Major  had  said  to  him  upon  that  occasion.  “ I told  you 
last  summer  to  keep  a sharp  look-out  as  to  whether  they 
had  a good  two-year-old  in  the  North.  You  got  hold  of 
him  a little  late — we  ought  to  have  been  on  at  double  the 
odds.” 

But  when  Mr.  Prance  made  his  appearance  in  Mayfair, 
and  communicated  his  new  intelligence,  Dick  Kynaston 
exclaimed : — 

If  you’re  sure  of  what  you  say  there  is  more  money  in 
this  than  there  was  in  the  other  ; but  look  here,  Sam,  there 
must  be  no  mistake  about  it.  One  reason  I have  stood  to 
you  rather  is  that  whatever  your  information  might  be  you 
have  always  told  me  exactly  where  you  got  it,  and  I could 
depend  upon  its  accuracy ; now,  no  nonsense,  tell  me  the 


MR.  BLACK'S  TIP.  165 

precise  grounds  you  have  for  saying  Belisarius  won't  win 
the  Derby." 

Prance,  in  reply,  detailed  his  conversation  with  the  book-* 
maker,  winding  up  with  “ And,  as  you  know,  sir,  the  tip 
about  Belisarius  for  The  Guineas  came  from  the  same 
man.” 

“ Yes,"  observed  the  Major,  meditatively,  **  I know 
Black ; he's  as  shrewd  and  close  an  observer  as  there  is  in 
the  Ring.  I’ll  just  watch  this  little  game  for  a few  days 
myself,  and,  when  I have  noted  who  are  the  colt’s  most 
persistent  opponents,  shall  quite  know  what  to  think  of  it. 
That’ll  do  for  the  present,  Sam.  You’re  not  given  to  run- 
ning riot,  and  I need  scarcely  hint  this  is  nothing  to  give 
tongue  about." 

“ Never  fear.  Major,  I'm  not  given  to  talk  unless  I am 
paid  for  it." 

“ Oh  ! one  thing  more,”  exclaimed  Kynaston,  “ if  you 
happen  to  hear  what  it  is  the  opponents  of  the  favourite 
are  going  on,  let  me  know." 

“ Certainly,  sir,"  replied  Prance,  as  he  picked  up  his  hat, 

“ if  I can  make  out  anything  more  you  shall  know  it  at 
once.  For  the  present,  good-bye.  Major.” 

As  Prance  walked  away  from  the  Kynastons’  house,  an 
angry  flush  came  over  his  face  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Furzedon 
leisurely  lounging  along  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 
Furzedon  was  apparently  quite  unconscious  of  his  pres- 
ence, and,  after  he  had  got  past  him  some  little  distance. 
Prance  turned  round  mechanically  to  glare  once  more  at 
his  enemy.  He  was  not  a little  surprised  to  see  Furzedon 
cross  the  street  and  knock  at  the  Kynastons’  door. 

‘‘  I didn’t  know,”  he  muttered,  “ that  he  was  thick  with 
the  Major,  and,  if  they  are  not  pretty  intimate,  how  the 
deuce  comes  it  that  he  is  dropping  in  at  this  time  of  the 
morning  ? ” 

Mr.  Prance  was  not  much  versed  in  social  ettiquette, 
but  he  did  know  that  a morning  call  signified  either  busi- 
ness or  considerable  intimacy,  and  to  ascertain  what  were 
the  relations  between  Kynaston  and  Furzedon  became 
now  a problem  which  it  behoved  him  to  study, 

• ^ ♦ 


166 


SADDLE  AND  SA!I^& 


XXIII.— Charlie’s  Summoned  to  Town. 

The  hunting  is  long  a thing  of  the  past,  the  sap  runs 
riotously  through  the  trees,  which  are  breaking  forth 
in  all  the  glorious  verdure  of  the  month  of  May.  Birds 
are  singing,  buds  are  bursting,  and  grass  is  springing  in 
every  direction.  The  song  of  the  throstle  from  the  top- 
most bough  re-echoes  to  chanticleer’s  shrill  defiance,  as 
the  sun  breaks  forth  in  the  early  morning  to  kiss  the  white- 
and-pink  fragrant  blossoms  characteristic  of  the  merry 
month.  Few  girls  had  ever  enjoyed  the  springtime  more 
than  Lettice  Devereux : but  somehow  this  year  the  salt 
seemed  to  have  lost  its  savour.  It  struck  her  that  North 
Leach  was  a little  dull.  The  Kynastons  had  left  The 
Firs ; Charlie  was  away  soldiering  ; as  for  John,  he  seemed 
more  absorbed  in  the  farms  than  usual.  Lettie  did  not 
understand  it ; she  no  longer  took  the  interest  in  the  young 
horses  that  she  used  to  do  ; how  the  game-fowls  were 
doing  became  a matter  of  indifference  to  her ; and  the 
garden  had  ceased  to  be  an  attraction.  She  was  restless 
and  discontented  ; she  had  as  yet  received  no  invitation 
from  Mrs.  Connop,  and  Lettie  had  reckoned  more  upon  it 
than  she  had  ever  done  hitherto.  Charlie,  too,  was  so 
stupid ; he  wrote  so  seldom,  and  when  he  did  his  letters 
were  so  dreadfully  egotistical,  he  never  said  anything  about 
the  people  he  mixed  with,  nor  told  her  anything  about  his 
brother  officers.  Of  course  his  letters  would  be  so  much 
more  interesting  if  they  contained  some  information 
regarding  his  associates.  As  for  coming  to  North  Leach, 
he  only  alluded  to  that  as  a possibility  of  next  winter  ; and 
in  the  meantime  Lettice  recognized  that  there  was  a mono- 
tony and  solitude  about  North  Leach  hard  to  bear. 

She  took  her  solitary  rides,  she  strove  honestly  to  busy 
herself  with  her  accustomed  avocations ; but,  in  spite  of 
all  that,  there  were  times  when  she  felt  that  the  stagnation 
of  life  at  North  Leach  was  well-nigh  insupportable.  As 
for  Gilbert  Slade,  she  would  trouble  her  mind  no  more 
about  him.  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  right — if  he  had  cared 
ever  so  little  about  her  he  would  have  made  an  effort  to  see 


CHARLIE'S  SUMMONED  TO  TOWN. 


167 


her  before  this.  But  Gilbert  Slade  had  made  never  a sign, 
and  might  as  well  have  been  shooting  big  game  in  India 
as  quartered  at  York  for  all  she  heard  of  him.  Mr.  Furze- 
don,  on  the  contrary,  had  twice,  under  some  rather  flimsy 
pretext,  visited  them  for  two  or  three  days.  Plausible 
though  his  account  had  been  of  how  he  had  happened  to 
be  in  their  neighbourhood,  there  was  a ring  of  untruth 
about  it  which  gave  Miss  Devereux  the  idea  that  Mrs. 
Kynaston  was  right,  and  that  she  herself  was  the  attraction 
that  drew  him  into  North  Lincolnshire.  Lettice,  more- 
over, could  but  see  that,  without  venturing  to  proclaim 
himself  an  admirer,  he  paid  her  considerable  attention, 
and  with  no  undue  vanity  felt  that  he  only  wanted  a little 
encouragement  on  her  part  to  become  a recognized  pre- 
tender to  her  hand. 

Still,  Lettie  had  by  no  means  got  over  her  prejudice 
against  him.  She  was  courteous,  pleasant  to  him,  and  did 
her  best  to  make  his  brief  visits  to  North  Leach  agreeable  ; 
but,  for  all  that,  she  did  not  care  about  him  herself.  To 
say  that  she  disliked  him  would  be  too  strong  a phrase, 
but  she  was  certainly  indiflerent  to  him,  and,  bravely 
though  she  tried  to  master  it,  was  conscious  of  an  un- 
grounded prejudice  against  him.  It  was  probably  the 
ingrained  cynicism  of  Furzedon’s  character  that  jarred 
upon  Miss  Devereux.  He  strove  very  hard  to  subdue  it  ; 
he  was  aware  that  that  vein  is  rarely  popular  with  women  ; 
but  nature  combined  with  habit  is  not  easily  smothered, 
and,  in  spite  of  all  his  care,  his  bitter  views  of  men  and 
things  would  occasionally  escape  his  lips.  Still  Ralph 
Furzedon  thought  that  he  was  making  fair  progress  ; and 
had  he  not  clever  Mrs.  Kynaston  to  aid  him  ? and  did  he 
not  hold  that  tremendous  card  of  Charlie’s  difficulties  to 
launch  whenever  he  thought  fittest  ? Ralph  Furzedon 
little  thought  as  he  left  North  Leach,  in  the  very  first  days 
of  May,  how  speedily  Mrs.  Kynaston  v/ould  counsel  an 
application  of  the  screw. 

But,  if  Charlie  Devereux  could  find  no  time  to  go  to 
North  Leach,  he  could  manage  to  get  a week’s  leave  for 
the  purpose  of  running  up  to  London.  And  hither  he  had 
betaken  himself  in  obedience  to  the  express  wish  of  Mrs« 


1 68 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Kynaston.  She  and  Charlie  corresponded  pretty  fre- 
quently— a correspondence  which  they  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  mention  to  other  people.  Even  at  The  Firs 
Kate  could  often  have  given  Lettie  Devereux  later  news  of 
her  brother  than  she  herself  possessed  ; but  Mrs.  Kynaston 
never  thought  fit  to  mention  it.  She  was  a lady  much 
given  to  philandering  correspondence,  and  usually  had  two 
or  three  what  she  denominated  “ special  friends  ” of  the 
male  sex,  with  whom  she  kept  up  much  sentimental  letter- 
writing. No  very  great  harm,  perhaps,  in  the  epistles  ; 
and  yet  they  always  contained  a certain  amount  of  love- 
making,  such  as  were  hardly  befitting  a married  woman  to 
receive.  A prompt,  energetic  woman,  as  well  as  a capri- 
cious one,  was  Mrs.  Kynaston,  accustomed  to  subdue 
men  easily.  Her  first  feeling  on  discovering  Gilbert  Slade’s 
insensibility  to  her  fascinations  had  been  astonishment, 
then  came  pique,  and  finally  she  had  framed  herself  into  a 
mad  passion  for  this  Dragoon,  who  declined  to  put  his  neck 
beneath  her  foot. 

But  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  not  easily  beaten  when  she  had 
set  her  mind  upon  a thing.  She  had  determined  that  the 
first  thing  it  behoved  her  to  put  an  end  to  was  Slade’s 
growing  admiration  for  Lettie  Devereux.  Secondly,  to 
marry  that  young  lady  to  Furzedon  as  soon  as  she  could 
compass  it.  Most  women  would  have  deemed  these  two 
things  beyond  their  power  to  bring  about,  but  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton had  implicit  reliance  in  her  own  abilities,  and  was 
wonderfully  adroit  in  making  the  most  of  such  weapons  as 
came  to  her  hand.  Already  she  had  put  into  Furzedon’s 
head  the  idea  that  Lettie  would  make  him  an  excellent 
wife.  Already  she  had  implanted  in  Miss  Devereux’s 
breast  mistrust  of  Bertie  Slade’s  intentions,  that  it  was  the 
sort  of  conventional  flirtation  these  soldiers  always  thought 
proper  to  indulge  in  with  any  pretty  girl  they  came  across. 
But  she  wanted  to  do  more  than  that,  she  wanted  to  effec- 
tually sever  Lettie  from  her  lover.  It  was  in  furtherance 
of  these  purposes  that  she  had  urged  Charlie  to  run  up  to 
town  ; “ she  had  so  many  things  to  say  to  him,”  she  wrote. 
“ She  wanted  to  see  him  now  he  had  had  a few  months’ 
military  training,  whether  he  was  improved  or  the  reverse ; 


CHARLIE’S  SUMMONED  TO  TOWN.  l6g 

she  hoped  they  hadn’t  spoiled  his  seat  in  the  riding-school ; 
in  short,  Charlie,”  she  concluded,  “ I must  see  you  ; I’m 
sure  you  can  get  a few  days’  leave  now,  so,  remember,  I 
shall  take  no  excuse  from  you.” 

However  indifferently  Charlie  might  have  regarded  Mrs. 
Kynaston’s  charms  upon  first  making  her  acquaintance  he 
could  no  longer  be  accused  of  that  indifference  now.  He 
was  no  doubt  very  much  in  love  with  as  thorough-going  a 
flirt  as  there  was  in  all  London,  and  he  lost  no  time  in 
obeying  her  behest.  He  was  ill  all  the  flush  of  his  Two 
Thousand  winnings,  and  sanguine,  as  young  gentlemen  of 
his  age  are  wont  to  be,  about  being  equally  fortunate  over 
the  Derby.  That  he  should  present  Mrs.  Kynaston  with 
a very  pretty  bangle  as  a memento  of  Belisarius,  and  tell 
her  the  whole  story  of  how  he  came  to  baick  that  horse,  and 
of  all  that  he  hoped  from  his  success  at  Epsom,  one  need 
scarcely  say.  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  interested  in  his  story  ; 
she  led  him  on  till  at  last  she  drew  from  him  the  whole 
story  of  his  difficulties ; how  that  he  had  come  to  terrible 
grief  in  plunging  at  the  Houghton  meeting  at  Newmarket 
the  year  before  last;  how  that  Furzedon  in  the  first 
instance  had  lent  him  the  money  ; how  he  felt  the  obliga- 
tion of  being  indebted  to  a friend  so  oppressive  that  he  had 
taken  counsel  with  Major  Kynaston  on  the  subject ; and 
how  that  the  Major  had  borrowed  the  money  for  him 
elsewhere. 

“ And  at  usurious  interest,  no  doubt,”  interposed  the 
lady.  “ Dick,  I know  from  sad  experience,  is  an  adept  at 
such  things ; but,”  she  continued,  with  a grave  shake  of 
her  head,  ‘‘  my  poor  Charlie,  you  have  to  pay  for  it.  How 
is  it  all  to  end  ? ” And  then  he  told  her  how  he  looked 
forward  to  his  winnings  on  the  Derby  to  discharge  all  his 
liabilities ; and  how  that,  when  he  had  wiped  the  slate 
clean,  he  would  take  very  good  care  not  to  make  such  a 
fool  of  himself  again. 

Mrs.  Kynaston  made  no  further  comment  upon  his  story, 
but  lightly  changed  the  conversation. 

“ And  so  you  have  seen  nothing  of  any  of  your  people 
since  you  left  North  Leach  the  very  end  of  last  year  ? ” 
Charlie  shook  his  head« 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


170 

“ No ; foolish  of  me,  of  course.  I know  from  your  letters  ' 
you  have  not.  What  I mean  is,  Have  you  no  news  to  tell 
me  from  North  Leach  ? 

“ No,'*  replied  young  Devereux ; “ it  is  too  early  to  know 
much  about  the  game  ; too  early  to  know  much  about  the 
crops.  Lettice  says  she  finds  it  very  dull,  and  is  looking 
anxiously  forward  to  an  invitation  from  her  aunt ; but  so 
far,  I believe,  it  hasn’t  arrived.” 

Ah  ! that  is  not  exactly  what  I call  news.  Lettice  did 
not  tell  you,  for  instance,  she  was  going  to  be  married — 
did  she  ? ” 

‘‘  Lettice  married  ! No.  Who  to  ? ** 

“ My  dear  Charlie,  brothers  are  always  notoriously  blind 
to  their  sisters’  love  affairs  ; but  still,  I should  have  thought 
you  might  have  seen  how  very  attentive  your  friend  Mr. 
Furzedon  was  to  Lettice  last  season.” 

‘‘  You  forget,”  he  replied,  “ that  I was  only  altogether  a 
very  few  days  in  town  last  year ; and,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 

I had  an  idea  that  there  might  be  something  of  that  sort 
between  her  and  Gilbert  Slade.” 

“ Ah  ! You  think,  because  at  Lettie’s  request  he  assisted 
you  to  get  a nomination  for  a commission,  he  was  in  love 
with  your  sister— a natural  mistake,  but  I should  doubt 
Mr.  Slade  being  in  a position  to  marry  even  if  I thought 
him  a marrying  man.” 

“ Well,  he  came  alfthe  way  down  to  Lincoln  to  see  Pole 
Star  win  last  autumn,  and  I thought  perhaps  that  the  seeing 
of  Lettie ” 

“ Oh,  yes ; I know,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with 
some  little  acerbity ; ‘‘  he  sat  in  her  pocket  all  day,  and 
had  hardly  a word  to  bestow  upon  any  one  else  ; but  that’s 
only  the  way  of  your  precious  profession.  Still,  I don’t 
wonder  that  you  were  a little  puzzled.” 

“ You  give  me  credit  for  noticing  a great  deal  more  than 
I did  upon  that  occasion.  Remember,  that  was  the  day  I 
won  my  first  steeplechase.  I had  the  race  and  Pole  Star 
on  my  mind  the  whole  afternoon  ; and,  beyond  that,  Gilbert 
shook  hands  with  me  and  congratulated  me  on  my  victory. 

I know  no  more.  How  he  and  Lettie  passed  their  time 
I’ve  no  idea*” 


CHARLIE'S  SUMMONED  TO  TOWN.  tyi 

“Then  you  don't  know  that  Mr.  Furzedon  has  been  at 
North  Leach  twice  this  Spring?" 

“ Well,  I’m  not  sure,"  rejoined  Charlie,  “ that  Lettie  did 
not  say  something  about  it  in  one  of  her  letters ; but  it 
made  so  little  impression  that  I had  forgotten  it," 

“ Well,  I can’t  say  positively,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston  ; 
“ the  two  principals  have  neither  of  them  thought  fit  to 
make  confession  to  me,  but  that  Mr.  Furzedon  adores 
your  sister  I know  from  his  own  lips  (a  little  exaggeration 
this) ; and  as  for  Lettie,  well,  she  knows  it,  and  if  she  dis- 
approved it  how  came  Mr.  Furzedon  to  go  down  to  North 
Leach  twice  ? " 

“ I’m  sure  I don’t  know,"  replied  Charlie,  “ I never 
dreamt  of  his  caring  about  Lettice  in  that  way — he’s  not  a 
bad  fellow  Furzedon,  but  I don’t  think  I quite  care  about 
him  as  a brother-in-law." 

Charlie  Devereux’s  vision  had  been  a little  enlarged 

since  he  had  joined  the th  Hussars ; he  probably  drew 

a more  correct  estimate  of  his  fellows  than  when  he  was  an 
undergraduate,  and  was  conscious  now  that  his  comrades 
would  pronounce  Furzedon  not  quite  “ the  right  thing." 

“ Don’t  be  foolish,  Charlie,"  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
“your  sister  is  doing  very  well  for  herself.  Ralph  Furze- 
don is  a very  rising  young  man,  much  richer,  I have  some 
reason  to  know,  than  he  is  usually  supposed.  A shrewd 
man  too,  not  a genius — they,  poor  things,  rarely  get  on  in 
this  life — but  a clear-headed,  practical  man.  Ralph  Furze- 
don will  push  his  way  in  this  world,  he  will  get  into  Parlia- 
ment, and  has,  no  doubt  about  it,  a future  before  him. 
Lettice,  like  any  prudent  girl,  knows  which  side  her  bread 
is  buttered,  and  is  not  likely  to  throw  on  one  side  a good 
parti  for  poetical  visions  of  love  or  perchance  strawberry- 
leaves." 

“ You  know  best,”  said  young  Devereux,  “ and  I suppose 
Lettice  is  doing  a good  thing  for  herself.  Furzedon  has 
always  been  a pal  of  mine,  but  for  all  that,  let  him  be  as 
rich  as  may  be,  I wish  he  were  not  going  to  marry  my 
sister." 

“You  foolish  boy,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston,  “you  are 
confusing  love  and  settling  in  life ; it  is  given  to  few  of  us 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


to  marry  the  man  we  really  care  for.  Oh  dear ! how  little 
giving  in  marriage  there  would  be  if  that  was  an  essential 
part  of  it.”  And  then  Kate  Kynaston  plunged  into  one  of 
those  charming  little  dissertations  in  which  she  was  such  a 
proficient,  in  which  she  demonstrated  that  it  was  the  duty 
or  three-fourths  of  womankind  to  sacrifice  themselves  for 
the  sake  of  their  families,  and  that  it  was  their  misfortune 
to  come  across  those  they  could  have  loved  later  on  in 
life ; they  were  less  to  be  blamed  than  wept  over.  What 
the  sacrifice  had  been  in  her  own  case  was  left  most  misty 
and  undefined,  but  Mrs.  Kynaston  always  contrived  to 
send  her  admirers  away  with  the  idea  that  she  was  a 
woman  wrestling  with  a heavy  burden,  that  her  hearer 
was  the  one  man  that  had  ever  touched  her  heart,  and 
that,  had  they  met  earlier,  life  would  have  been  so  very 
different. 

As  for  Charlie,  he  went  back  to  York  uncomfortable 
about  Lettice  s engagement,  and  with  a hazy  idea  that  he 
had  added  to  poor  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  troubles  by  his  own 
fatal  fascinations,  and  yet  a less  conceited  man  than 
Charlie  Devereux  probably  never  trod  shoe-leather. 

‘‘  Well,  young  ’un,”  exclaimed  Gilbert  Slade,  as  Charlie 
burst  into  his  quarters  a few  minutes  before  the  trumpet 
sounded  for  dress — “had  a good  time?  Whom  did  you 
see,  and  what  have  you  been  doing?  You  didn’t  forget  to 
call  upon  my  Uncle  B,ob,  did  you  ?” 

“ No,”  rejoined  Charlie,  “ I called  twice  on  him,  but  I 
didn’t  see  him.  I was  most  anxious  to  thank  him  for  all 
he  had  done  for  me  , but  the  porter  said  he  had  not  been 
at  the  Thermopolium  for  three  or  four  days,  and  he  thought 
that  he  must  be  out  of  town.” 

“ Pick  up  any  news  ?”  inquired  Bertie,  lazily. 

“ I did,”  rejoined  Charlie.  “ I saw  Mrs.  Kynaston,  and 
heard  a very  strange  bit  of  news  from  her ; rather  a queer 
thing,”  continued  Charlie,  “ to  hear  of  your  own  sister 
going  to  be  married  from  any  one  but  herself,  but  I did. 
She  told  me  that  Lettice  was  engaged  to  be  married.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed  Gilbert  Slade,  springing  to  his 
feet.  “Miss  Devereux  going  to  be  married?  Nonsense, 
CharUe.  Who  to?’* 


SAM  PRANCE  AT  HOME.  173 

^ To  Ralph  Furzedon,  of  all  people  in  the  world,”  replied 
young  Devereux 

“ What,  ^at  cad  \ ” exclaimed  Bertie.  “ Well,  I’m 

d d.  No,  I beg  your  pardon,  Charlie,  of  course  I 

don’t  mean  that.  I mean  I congratulate  you,  old  fellow. 
I trust  Miss  Devereux  will  be  happy.  Pray  forgive  me 
that  slip  of  the  tongue,  and  consider  I’ve  said  all  the  pro- 
per things  usual  under  the  circumstances.” 

Charlie  said  no  more,  but,  as  he  walked  away  to  his  own 
quarters  to  dress,  felt  less  reconciled  than  ever  to  this 
engagement  of  his  sister.  Bertie’s  involuntary  exclama- 
tion had  strengthened  his  own  conviction.  Stripped  of 
his  fine  feathers  Furzedon  was  a cad.  Could  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton  be  right,  and  was  Lettice  really  engaged  to  this  man  ? 

“ Ah,”  he  muttered,  “ women  are  so  much  clearer  sighted 
than  ourselves  in  these  matters.  It  is  little  likely  that  a 
clever  woman  like  Kate,” — and  his  face  slightly  flushed  as 
he  murmured  her  Christian  name — “would  make  a mis- 
take in  such  a matter.” 


XXIV. — Sam  Prance  at  Home. 

11  1 AJOR  KYNASTON  had  been  not  a little  puzzled  at 
iVl  Sam  Prance’s  reference  to  young  Devereux  last 
year ; he  had  wondered  then  whether  Prance  had  the 
slightest  idea  that  there  were  business  relations  between 
himself  and  Furzedon.  They  had  now  several  Turf  tran- 
sactions in  common,  and  moreover,  Furzedon,  as  the 
young  man  about  town,  when  he  had  the  chance,  invari- 
ably brought  young  gentlemen  in  difficulties  to  the  Major 
for  advice.  He  would  observe  with  a geniality  which  sat 
ill  upon  him,  on  becoming  the  confidant  of  such  troubles, 
“ Let  me  introduce  you  to  Dick  Kynaston,  he’ll  pull  you 
through.  He  knows  all  these  sort  of  fellows,  and  can 
always  tell  you  what  to  do,  and  who  to  go  to.”  And  then 
Mr.  Furzedon  would  chuckle  to  himself  at  what  was  to 
him  an  exquisite  jest,  to  wit,  that  these  young  innocents 
would  shortly  be  brought  round  to  his  pen  to  be  shorn ; 


174 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


and  that  Kynaston  was  in  complete  ignorance  that  he, 
Furzedon,  was  in  reality  the  shearer. 

Kynaston  had  not  seen  Prance  .for  some  months  after 
their  interview,  and  had  pretty  well  dismissed  the  subject 
from  his  mind ; he  thought  it  was  impossibly  that  Prance 
could  know  anything  more  of  his  connection  with  Furze- 
don than  that  they  were  to  some  extent  Turf  confederates. 
Still,  when  the  succeeding  spring  in  London  Prance  once 
more  made  his  appearance  at  the  little  house  in  Mayfair, 
the  Major  reverted  to  the  subject.  But  he  soon  found 
that  the  tout  knew  little  more  than  that  Furzedon  and 
himself  were  acquainted ; that  he  had  small  knowledge  of 
the  Devereuxes ; and  that  his  main  motive  was  a rabid  hos- 
tility and  distrust  of  Ralph  Furzedon.  Prance  had  indeed 
no  particular  object  in  rescuing  Charlie  Devereux  from 
Furzedon’s  clutches  other  than  the  hatred  he  bore  the 
latter,  and,  although  he  considered  his  patron  well  able  to 
take  care  of  himself,  yet  he  thought  it  was  better  to  give 
him  an  insight  into  Furzedon’s  real  character.  Dick 
Kynaston  had  taken  due  note  of  the  caution,  and  said  to 
himself,  ‘‘  Fve  had  to  do  with  some  queer  customers  in  my 
time,  but  it  is  always  a great  advantage  to  know  when  you 
‘ sit  down  to  play  with  Ah  Sin  1 ’ ” This  had  been  all  Prance 
had  intended  by  his  warning,  and  he  had  thought  no  more 
of  the  matter  until  he  saw  Furzedon  call  at  the  house  in 
Mayfair  just  after  he  had  left  it. 

But  now  all  Prance’s  curiosity  was  aroused.  Two 
strong  passions  urged  him  on  to  discover  what  was  the 
connection  between  the  two  men — his  enmity  to  Furzedon 
and  his  gratitude  to  Kynaston.  Blunted  and  seared  as  all 
his  better  feelings  were,  he  still  held  a dogged  fidelity 
towards  the  Major.  He  had  always  been  liberal  to  him, 
and  the  unfortunate  man  felt  very  grateful  to  him  for  the 
assistance  he  had  rendered  in  the  bitter  need  of  last 
winter.  Still  Mr.  Prance,  as  he  sits  alone  in  his  modest 
apartment  in  Great  Coram  Street,  does  not  exactly  see  his 
way  to  arriving  at  what  he  wants. 

**  What  can  have  brought  these  two  men  together  ? ” 
and  as  he  turns  this  knotty  point  over  in  his  mind  rhe  man 
puffs  vigorously  at  his  short  clay  pipe,  Sam  Prance's 


SAM  PRANCE  AT  HOME. 


175 


domicile  was  by  no  means  luxuriously  furnished,  A bed  ; 
a washstand ; a chair,  by  courtesy  called  easy ; and  a 
table  or  two,  comprised  its  contents,  but  it  was  clean,  and 
the  proprietor  regarded  it  as  princely  compared  to  some  of 
the  lodgings  he  had  flitted  in  and  out  of  during  the  past 
few  months.  One  of  the  tables  was  littered  with  a few  old 
turf  guides,  a blotting-pad,  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  and  at 
length,  by  way  of  penetrating  the  mystery.  Prance  sat 
himself  down,  and,  taking  up  his  pen,  determined  to,  what 
he  called,  “ Run  ofif  Ralph  Furzedon's  performances,”  as 
he  would  have  gone  through  those  of  a racehorse  with  a 
view  to  getting  a line  through  him  of  some  other  horse. 

“ Yes,”  he  muttered,  after  scribbling  fast  for  ten  minutes 
or  more,  “ it’s  a very  nice  sheet,  it  reads  well,  it’s  a pity 
his  swell  friends  can’t  see  it.  His  sire,  a pawnbroker  ; 
two-year-old  performances ; trafficking  in  the  sale  of 
unredeemed  pledges  ; backing  horses  on  the  turf ; making 
love  to  his  friend’s  wife  and  urging  that  friend  to  neglect 
an  honest  occupation  for  gambling  and  horse-races  ; pretty 
well  that  for  a young  ’un  who  had  not  reached  his 
eighteenth  year.  Three-year-old  performances  : laughing 
at  his  friend  when  he  was  kicked  out  of  his  situation ; 
mocking  at  him  and  remarking  it  was  his  own  own  fault 
when  his  wife  ran  away ; refusing  him  assistance  when  he 
was  in  difficulties  ; gibing  at  him ; and,  finally,  knocking 
him  down  because,  in  his  extremity,  he  asked  him  in  pity’s 
sake  for  a sovereign.” 

There  was  no  doubt  a basis  of  truth  underlying  Prance’s 
summary,  but  the  man’s  morbid  antipathy  to  Furzedon 
must  be  allowed  for ; the  colouring  was  more  bold  and 
vivid  than  the  facts  warranted  ; and  that  Prance  should 
attribute  every  evil  that  had  befallen  him  to  Furzedon’s 
malign  influence  must  be  taken  very  much  cum  grano  sails. 
He  had  contributed  a fair  share  himself  to  his  own  undoing ; 
, and  the  defalcations  which  cost  him  his  situation  and 
blasted  his  character  were  in  nowise  due  to  any  suggestion 
of  Ralph  Furzedon.  However,  painting  his  enemy  in  the 
darkest  tints  did  not  serve  to  elucidate  the  problem  he  had 
sat  down  to  consider.  That  the  Major  was  fond  of  a 
game  of  cards  he  thought  was  likely ; that  the  Major 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


176 

preferred  winning  to  losing  had  no  doubt , he  never  knew 
anybody  who  did  not.  That  the  Major  was  capable  of 
assisting  fortune  he  deemed  probable,  and  thought  none 
the  worse  of  him  for  that.  In  his  own  easy  code  of 
morality  he  regarded  cheating  and  all  games  of  chance  as 
cleverness ; and  he  was  the  best  player  who  concealed 
most  cards  up  his  sleeve  without  detection.  Horse-racing 
the  same , he  saw  no  harm  in  a robbery,  provided  you 
were  in  it ; it  was  a rascally  thing  if  you  were  not ; and, 
if  publicly  discovered,  there  was  always  the  chance  of 
your  paying  the  penalties,  and  not  being  paid  the  money. 
But  then  there  it  was  again  ; clever  people  were  not  dis- 
covered, it  was  the  bunglers  that  were  found  out.  Now, 
whatever  Furzedon  had  done — and  remember,  there  was 
no  enormity  of  this  sort  that  Prance  believed  he  had  not 
committed— he  had  never  been  found  out.  Surely  Major 
Kynaston  could  not  have  fallen  into  the  mistake  that  this 
was  a young  gentleman  from  whom  there  was  money  to  be 
won.  No,  no;  the  Major  was  far  too  ’cute  not  to  have 
found  out  for  himself  long  ago  that  there  was  nobody 
about  better  able  to  take  care  of  his  money  than  Mr. 
Furzedon.  What  could  be  the  link  that  bound  the  two 
men  ? Nothing  but  chance  is  likely  to  throw  light  upon 
one  face  of  their  connection  ; but  of  their  confederacy  on 
the  Turf  it  would  be  odd  if  Mr.  Prance  is  not  speedily 
acquainted  with  ; and  when  that  comes  to  pass  there  will 
be  slight  doubt  of  Sam  unbosoming  himself.  Of  such 
partnership  he  will  feel  certain  that  his  patron  must 
eventually  get  the  worst. 

“ Because  he  is  young,”  muttered  Mr.  Prance  to  him- 
self, even  now  in  all  ignorance  of  the  facts,  “ the  Major 
thinks  he  is  green.  He  little  guesses  he  is  dealing  with  the 
foxiest  devil  he  ever  met ; who  makes  capital  out  of  his 
youth  and  inexperience.  The  Major  is  wary,  up  to  trap, 
no  doubt ; thinks,  I dare  say,  that  he  is  not  to  be  had  by 
any  one  alive.  It’s  a queer  world,  and  it  seems  a farce  to 
suppose  that,  sitting  here  in  a room  like  this,  my  experi- 
ence can  be  good  for  much ; but,  for  all  that.  I’ve  learnt 
this,  that  the  biggest  sharper  in  a skittle-alley  is  generally 
the  young  and  innocent -looking  yokel*  I must  get  to  the 


SAM  PRANCE  AT  HOME.  17J 

bottom  of  this;  for  cleaned  out  by  such  a robber  as 
Furzedon  I’m  blessed  if  I see  the  Major.” 

Dick  Kynaston  was  in  no  very  great  danger;  he  was 
much  too  wise  not  to  have  taken  a pretty  accurate  estimate 
of  his  new  partner  by  this  time  ; he  was  quite  aware  that, 
young  though  he  might  be,  Furzedon  was  already  con- 
siderably more  rook  than  pigeon ; and,  whatever  his 
original  intention  might  have  been,  had  thoroughly 
abandoned  any  idea  of  a snatch  at  his  quill-feathers.  The 
revelation  that  Furzedon  was  practically  Jordan  & Co. 
would  certainly  have  surprised  him,  but  would  have  made 
very  little  other  difference  to  him,  save  in  one  respect ; it 
mattered  little  to  the  Major  to  what  money-lenders  he 
took  his  young  friends,  his  profits  in  the  transaction  were 
pretty  much  the  same  in  any  case.  But  Dick  Kynaston  had 
been  born,  and,  however  shady  his  avocation  might  now  be, 
still  clung  to  the  status  of,  a gentleman.  He  was  ready  to 
interview  the  money-lender  in  his  own  den,  but,  let  him 
once  recognize  that  Furzedon  was  numbered  of  the  usurers, 
and  the  Major  would  take  good  care  that  he  never  crossed 
the  threshold  of  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  drawing-room  again. 

Although  Sam  Prance  was  not  aware,  as  yet,  that 
Furzedon  had  inherited  and  taken  up  his  uncle’s  business, 
it  stands  to  reason  that  his  old  connection  with  the  pawn- 
broking business  might  throw  that  knowledge  in  his  way 
at  any  moment.  Should  anything  prompt  him  to  inquire, 
it  would,  of  course,  be  as  easy  as  possible  for  him  to 
ascertain  who  was  really  at  the  present  moment  Jordan 
& Co.  His  former  apprenticeship  had  taught  him  the 
freemasonry  of  the  trade  ; and  what  that  means  we  all 
know,  let  the  trade  or  profession  be  what  it  may. 

Revenge  upon  Furzedon  was  interwoven  into  Sam 
Prance’s  very  being.  It  might  slumber  for  a time,  but  it 
never  died.  He  would  brood,  in  his  morbid  way,  over  all 
the  misery  that  man  had  cost  him  till  he  wound  himself  up 
to  that  state  of  mind  in  which  men  contemplate  taking  the 
life  of  their  fellows.  But  Prance  had  considerable  regard 
for  his  own  neck,  an  apprehension  more  preservative  of 
life  than  it  usually  gets  credit  for.  To  say  that  he  had 
hardly  the  tigerish  temperament  of  which  murderers  are 


I/S 


SADDLE  AND  SABRBL 


composed  would  be  absurd.  Murderers  seem  composed  o£ 
every  possible  fibre,  from  the  ruffian  who  slays  his  fellow 
from  sheer  brutality  down  to  the  cringing  reptile  who  does 
away  with  his  foe  simply  from  terror.  No ; Mr.  Prance  in 
his  solitary  musings  had  often  muttered  to  himself  with 
passionate  execrations,  “ How  I should  like  to  kill  him !” 
But  he  had  never  seriously  contemplated  anything  of  the 
kind.  He  would  have  liked  to  drag  Furzedon  down  to  his 
own  level,  but  of  that  he  felt  there  was  small  prospect. 
His  foe  was  wealthy,  and  a man  likely  to  keep  a strong 
hand  on  his  gear,  let  it  be  well  gotten  or  ill.  There  was 
little  likelihood  of  his  being  able  to  menace  Furzedon’s 
ruin  in  that  wise.  In  one  way  only  did  Mr.  Prance  see  an 
opportunity  of  gratifying  his  hatred,  and  that  was  in 
socially  exposing  him.  He  did  not  quite  know  as  yet  even 
how  that  was  to  be  brought  about,  but  he  was  conscious 
that  he  knew  a good  many  shady  transactions  of  Fur- 
zedon’s,  and  he  had  little  doubt  that  eventually  others 
would  come  to  his  knowledge  if  he  only  kept  ceaseless 
watch  upon  his  quondam  friend.  Not  such  transactions 
as  v/ould  place  Mr.  Furzedon  within  reach  of  the  law — 
Prance  considered  him  too  cunning  for  that ; but  it  might 
be  in  his  power  to  proclaim  to  the  world  things  that  would 
cause  Ralph  Furzedon’s  swell  acquaintances  to  turn  their 
backs  upon  him.  And  Prance  had  somehow  divined  his 
enemy’s  weakness  in  this  respect. 

It  was  so.  A desire  to  rub  shoulders  with  the  haul 
monde  was  the  aim  of  Ralph  Furzedon’s  life.  With  this 
object  he  had  gone  to  the  University.  The  furtherance  of 
this  design  had  a good  deal  to  say  to  his  going  on  the 
Turf.  It  was  something  to  know  a Lord,  if  it  was  only  on 
a racecourse ; to  pass  the  time-of-day  to  a real  swell,  even 
if  it  was  at  Tattersall’s.  Furzedon  had  tact,  was  pachy- 
dermatous, and,  though  pushing,  not  obtrusively  so.  Hfe 
did  not  force  an  acquaintance,  but  he  wriggled  into  one 
with  all  the  sinuous  twistings  of  an  eel.  Men  found  them- 
selves gradually  committed  to  a bowing  recognition  with 
Ralph  Furzedon,  while  at  the  same  time  they  wondered 
how  the  deuce  they  came  to  know  him.  Instinct  had  told 
Prauoe  how  to  strike  bis  enemy  ; it  wanted  only  that 


SAM  PRANCE  AT  HOME. 


179 


fortune  or  his  own  exertions  should  give  the  weapons  to  his 
hand.  Furzedon  too,  and  with  some  reason,  flattered  him- 
self that  he  was  making  his  way  slowly  but  surely  in  the 
path  he  had  marked  out,  and  should  Mr.  Prance  ever 
compass  his  projected  expose  he  will  have  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  he  could  have  dealt  his  adversary  no 
bitterer  blow. 

As  for  Ralph  Furzedon  he  was  very  well  contented  with 
the  way  things  were  going  with  him.  Most  especially  was 
he  well  pleased  with  his  new  allies  the  Kynastons.  The 
Major  promised  to  prove  profitable  to  him  all  round.  It 
was  from  him  that  the  inspiration  came  concerning  Beli- 
sarius  for  the  Two  Thousand,  and  Furzedon  had  won  a 
very  nice  little  stake  over  that  race ; then,  as  for  Mrs. 
Kynaston,  she  looked  like  being  of  much  value  to  him  from 
a social  point  of  view.  She  had  procured  him  invitations 
in  more  than  one  direction  that  he  coveted,  and,  cunning 
and  suspicious  as  he  was  by  nature,  he  placed  unlimited 
reliance  on  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  advice  concerning  this  un- 
known country  which  he  was  now  entering.  It  was  at  her 
instigation  that  he  had  determined  to  woo  Lettice  Dev- 
ereux,  and  he  had  resolved  to  be  guided  by  her  advice 
in  every  stage  of  the  matter.  It  must  be  observed  in  Kate 
Kynaston’s  defence  that  she  knew  nothing  of  Furzedon’s 
antecedents,  and  believed  him  to  be  no  more  than  a racing 
confederate  of  her  husband’s.  In  spite  of  that  indescrib- 
able something  about  him  which,  as  beforesaid,  was  apt  to 
produce  inquiry  concerning  his  forbears — a point  which 
none  of  Furzedon’s  acquaintance  had  as  yet  succeeded  in 
penetrating — Mrs.  Kynaston  regarded  him  as  by  no  means 
an  ineligible  match.  He  was  young,  tolerably  good- 
looking — those  who  admire  the  Semitic  type  in  man  would 
say  very — and  undoubtedly  well-off.  If  Lettie  Devereux 
could  make  up  her  mind  to  fancy  him  she  might  consider 
herself  well  married.  There  was,  of  course,  the  possibility 
that  she  might  do  better  ; but  it  is  safer  to  gather  the  apple 
within  our  reach  than  to  set  our  affections  upon  those  on 
the  topmost  bough. 

And  so  Mrs.  Kynaston  went  to  work  to  bring  aboist  a 
match  betwe^  these  two  with  a clear  cons^eAe^ 


l8o 


SADDLE  AND  SABRR 


XXV. — Kate  Kynaston  Reconnoitres. 

^^TTTELL,  Mr.  Furzedon,  when  am  I to  congratulate 
VV  ? ’’  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kynaston,  as  she  welcomed 
that  gentleman  to  her  pretty  little  drawing-room.  “ Am  I 
to  do  so  tQ-day  ? Am  I to  congratulate  you  on  having 
stormed  the  citadel,  or  to  chide  you  for  your  want  of  enter- 
prise in  still  delaying  the  final  assault  ? ” 

‘‘  It’s  all  very  well,”  replied  Furzedon  ; ‘‘  but  it  is  possi- 
ble to  speak  prematurely  in  these  cases.  I don’t  feel  quite 
sure  of  my  ground  with  Miss  Devereux.” 

“ Surely  you  made  her  understand  that  you’re  paying 
your  addresses  to  her  ? ” replied  Mrs.  Kynaston. 

“ Oh,  yes ; I don’t  think  there  could  be  any  possible 
mistake  about  that,  but  I can’t  say  that  I get  much  encour- 
agement. She  is  polite  enough,  and  all  that,  but  you 
know  what  I mean,  she  don’t  encourage  me  to  open  my 
heart.” 

“ Dear  me,  what  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  in  these  days  ? 
Don’t  you  know  that  the  basis  of  matrimonial  arrange- 
ments in  these  times  is — are  you  able  and  willing  to  open 
your  pockets?  Don’t  be  faint-hearted,  a girl  can’t  say 
you  ‘ No  ’ till  you  have  asked  her  the  question,  and,  if  she 
does,  tell  her  you  won’t  take  that  for  an  answer ; a little 
dash  and  resolution  and  you  will  be  engaged  to  Lettie 
Devereux  before  the  season’s  over,  and  a very  sweet,  pretty, 
lady-like  wife  she  will  make  you.” 

“I  wish  I quite  thought  so,”  rejoined  Furzedon;  ‘‘but 
her  manner  rather  gives  me  warning  to  go  no  further  than 
I have  done.” 

“ Never  fear  to  put  your  fortune  to  the  test,”  rejoined 
Mrs.  Kynaston  gaily,  “ and  don’t  take  thrice  ‘ No  ’ for  an 
answer.  I have  got  a hint  to  give  you  : Charlie  Devereux 
is  in  grievous  difficulties,  and  trusting  to  his  Derby  book  to 
pull  him  through  them.  It  never  does,  you  know.  He  is 
sure,  poor  boy,  to  be  in  worse  trouble  than  ever  after  the 
race.  Now,  there’s  an  opening  for  you.  A few  hundreds 
is  not  much  object  to  you,  if  you  are  in  earnest  about  this 
thing.  Save  your  friend  from  the  results  of  his  folly— you 


XLA.TE  KYN ASTON  RECONNOITRES. 

enlist  him  at  once  on  your  side ; and  as  for  Lettice,  she 
can  hardly  refuse  to  listen  to  her  brother’s  benefactor.” 
“How  did  you  learn  all  this?”  exclaimed  Furzedon, 
eagerly. 

“ From  Charlie  himself,”  replied  Kate  Kynaston.  “ He 
was  up  in  town  for  two  or  three  days  last  week,  and  told 
me  if  Belisarius  didn’t  get  him  out  of  the  scrape  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  a full  confession  to  his  father.” 

“ He  told  you  this  ? ” said  Furzedon,  as  his  quick  brain 
rapidly  turned  over  the  chances  of  the  situation. 

“ Yes,”  he  continued  at  length,  “ that  would  give  me  an 
opportunity.  I am  not  given  to  throwing  my  money  away 
much,  but  you  are  quite  right.  I should  have  a quid  pro 
quo  in  this  case,  and  I would  willingly  risk  a few  hundreds 
to  make  Miss  Devereux  my  wife.  Is  she  likely  to  be  in 
town  soon  ? ” 

“ That’s  just  what  I can’t  make  out,  but  I mean  knowing 
this  afternoon.  She  is  dying  to  come,  but  that  tiresome 
old  aunt  of  hers  hasn’t  written  as  yet ; however.  I’m  going 
out  to  see  her  to-day,  and  if  she  has  not  sent  that  invita- 
tion I fancy  she  will  after  I’ve  had  a talk  with  her.” 

“ You  won’t  mention  my  hopes  to  Mrs.  Connop  ? ” said 
Furzedon,  a little  anxiously. 

“ No,”  responded  Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  a somewhat  queer 
expression  on  her  face,  “ I shall  not.  I don’t  think  you 
are  quite  the  nephew  that  old  woman  would  be  disposed 
to  welcome  ; she  is  a foolish,  romantic  old  thing,  and  has,  I 
suspect,  nursed  the  idea  of  marrying  Lettie  to  Mr.  Slade.” 
“ Not  quite  so  foolish,  my  dear  Mrs.  Kynaston,  as  you 
think,”  rejoined  Furzedon,  as  he  rose  to  take  his  departure  ; 
“ I’ve  a strong  idea  that  those  two  were  very  good  friends 
before  they  parted  last  year.” 

“ That  matters  little,”  replied  the  lady,  coolly ; “ Mr. 
Slade  is  in  no  position  to  marry,  and  any  slight  flirtation 
there  might  have  been  between  them  is  not  a thing  worth 
your  consideration.  Good-bye  ; don’t  forget  my  advice  ; 
ask  Lettie  Devereux  to  be  your  wife  the  first  time  you 
have  an  opportunity,  and,  should  she  say  ‘No’ — which  I 
don’t  believe  she  will, — well,  ask  her  again  when  she  has 
had  a few  weeks  to  think  about  it.'^ 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


182 

Mr.  Furzedon  said  no  more,  but  bade  his  hostess  adieu, 
and  walked  leisurely  back  to  his  own  rooms,  pondering 
deeply  on  the  advice  that  had  been  given  him. 

Interested  though  her  motives  might  be,  Mrs.  Kynaston 
could  hardly  be  accused  of  not  working  energetically  to 
bring  about  the  marriage  she  had  planned.  It  had  become 
essential  for  her  purpose  that  Miss  Devereux  should  now 
make  her  appearance  in  town,  and  she  drove  off  that  after- 
noon to  call  upon  Mrs.  Connop,  and  ascertain  when  Lettie 
might  be  expected.  She  found  that  lady  at  home  and  very 
full  of  grievances ; to  begin  with,  she  was  suffering  from  a 
severe  cold,  and  that  as  a rule  may  be  pronounced  quite 
sufficient  grievance  without  going  into  any  others  that 
may  possibly  affect  our  friends ; moreover,  she  had  been 
compelled,  from  some  cause  or  other,  to  have  the  workmen 
into  the  house  ; and  what  Londoner,  that  has  had  experi- 
ence of  him,  does  not  know  what  a terrible  old  man  of  the 
sea  is  the  British  workman  when  he  once  gets  within  your 
gates  ? 

“ I hope,*'  said  Mrs.  Connop,  “ it  has  never  been  your 
lot  to  know  what  having  the  work-people  in  means.  The 
British  workman  has  been  often  abused  and  deserves  every 
bit  of  it.  He  breaks  my  rest  with  hideous  regularity.  He 
dawdles  about  all  day ; shows  great  capacity  for  beer ; is 
profuse  in  assurances  that  he  shall  have  finished  the  job  by 
the  end  of  the  week.  He  looks  at  it,  I suppose  thinks  over 
it,  but  he  never  works,  and  he  never  goes.'" 

“ Ah  1 fortunately  we  have  no  experience  of  that  sort  of 
thing.  We  haven’t  a house  of  our  own,  but  always  rent 
one,  and  Dick  would  take  very  good  care  that  there  was  no 
necessity  for  that  during  our  tenancy,  but  I've  always 
heard  that  the  work-people  are  very  trying.  Do  you 
expect  Lettie  to  visit  you  this  year  ? She  was  rather  look- 
ing forward  to  it,  I think,  the  last  time  I saw  her.” 

“And  I am  always  very  glad  to  have  her  with  me,” 
rejoined  Mrs.  Connop,  “ but  it’s  impossible  while  the  house 
is  in  such  a muddle  as  it  is  now.  If  I had  had  an  idea 
what  it  was  going  to  be  Fd  have  slipped  down  to  Brighton 
for  a month,  and  got  out  of  the  way  of  it  all.  But  they 
assured  me  it  would  take  less  than  a week,  and  I was 


KATE  KYNASTON  RECONNOITRES.  183 

foolish  enough  to  believe  them.  However,  they  vow  that 
it  really  is  very  nearly  finished  now,  and,  forsworn  as  they 
have  often  proved  themselves,  I try  to  believe  them  this 
time.  I shall  write  for  Lettie  as  soon  as  ever  I am  rid  of 
them.  How  was  she  looking  when  you  saw  her  last  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! she  was  well  enough  when  we  left  The  Firs,  but 
she  finds  North  Leach  rather  dull  now  the  hunting  is 
over.  She  gets  a glimpse  of  the  world  with  you ; and,  as 
is  only  natural,  she  longs  for  the  fun  and  gaiety  of  London 
in  preference  to  the  monotony  of  her  life  in  the  Wolds ; 
besides,  she  made  rather  a sensation  last  year — she  had 
quite  a train  of  admirers.” 

‘‘  Yes,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Connop,  “ she  is  pretty,  and  she 
was  no  doubt  popular,  and  got  on  well  at  all  the  dances 
I took  her  to.  But  Mr.  Slade  was  the  only  pronounced 
admirer  that  I saw.  He,  I think,  was  a good  deal  struck 
with  her.” 

“ Oh ! she  had  others  besides  him,  and  more  profitable 
ones  to  boot.” 

“ I like  Mr.  Slade,”  replied  Mrs.  Connop,  sharply. 

“ I think  most  people  do,”  said  Kate  ; “ he  is  very  good- 
looking  and  a most  agreeable  cavalier.  I was  only  speak- 
ing from  a matrimonial  point  of  view ; but,  from  what  I 
hear  about  him,  Mr.  Slade  is  in  no  position  to  take  unto 
him  a wife  at  present.” 

“ Lettie  has  plenty  of  time  before  her  to  think  about 
that.” 

“ No  doubt,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston.  “ But  it  is  a 
thing  that  naturally  crosses  a girl’s  mind  as  soon  as  she 
is  introduced.  Mr.  Furzedon,  I should  say,  was  quite  as 
much  struck  with  Lettie  as  Mr.  Slade,  and  only  wanted  a 
little  encouragement  to  declare  himself.” 

“ I don’t  like  him  as  well  as  the  other,”  said  Mrs. 
Connop,  sententiously. 

“ Perhaps  not,”  replied  Kate  Kynaston  ; “ but,  when  it 
comes  to  an  eligible  parti,  Mr.  Furzedon  is  preferable. 
He  is  a man  very  well  ofiF,  and  perfectly  independent.” 

“ Ah,  well  1 as  I said  before,  Lettie  has  no  cause  to 
hurry  herself  as  yet.” 

“ No,  indeed,”  rqoined  Mrs.  Kynaston,  rising.  “ I ana 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


184 

so  very  glad  to  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  get  in.  I 
trust  your  cold  will  soon  be  better,  and  that  you  will  bring 
Lettie  round  to  see  me  before  many  days  are  over.  Do 
come,  if  it  is  only  to  show  that  you  are  delivered  from 
this  incubus  that  besets  you.  Good-bye.”  And  as  Mrs. 
Kynaston  descended  to  her  carriage  she  murmured,  Yes, 
my  dear  friend,  I want  these  workmen  out  of  the  house 
quite  as  much  as  you  do.” 

Furzedon,  after  duly  thinking  over  Mrs.  Kynaston’s 
advice,  and  what  she  had  told  him  about  Charlie’s  diffi- 
culties, had  fully  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  plan  of  his 
campaign.  Nobody  knew  the  story  of  Charlie’s  difficulties 
better  than  he  did;  but  it  was  news  to  him  that  young 
Devereux  contemplated  a “ plunge  ” on  Belisarius  as  a 
means  of  extrication  from  his  embarrassments.  He  re- 
solved he  would  boldly  ask  Lettice  to  marry  him  as  soon 
as  she  appeared  in  London.  He  had  a very  tolerable 
share  of  self-esteem,  but  he  hardly  expected  to  be  suc- 
cessful upon  this  occasion ; if  possible,  he  determined  to 
avoid  positive  rejection,  but  to  withdraw  his  pretensions 
discreetly  as  soon  as  he  saw  it  imminent : then,  only  let 
Belisarius  be  beaten  for  the  Derby,  and  he  would  make 
another  attempt.  Charlie  would  be  then  deeper  in  the 
mire  than  ever.  And  he  might  urge  upon  Miss  Devereux 
that  it  lay  with  her  to  make  it  possible  for  him  to  pay  his 
brother-in-law’s  debts. 

Belisarius ! He  hadn’t  troubled  his  head  much  as  yet 
to  think  about  that  colt’s  prospects  for  the  Derby,  but  now 
it  dawned  upon  him  that  as  far  as  he  was  concerned  the 
success  of  Belisarius  would  be  inimical  to  his  interests. 
He  must  make  inquiries ; the  horse  was  not  going  very 
well  in  the  market ; he  wondered  whether  there  was  any- 
thing wrong  with  him,  he  had  had  no  hint  of  such  a thing 
himself;  perhaps  Dick  Kynaston  might  have  heard  some- 
thing about  it ; he  must  ask  him.  Now  it  so  happened 
that  his  visit  to  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  been  made  the  after- 
noon before  Prance  related  to  the  Major  what  Mr.  Black 
had  told  him ; and  when  Prance  espied  Furzedon  knocking 
at  the  Kynastons’  door  that  gentleman  was  calling  there 
expressly  to  learn  what  his  Turf  confederate  thought  of  the 


KATE  KYNASTON  RECONNOITRES.  1S5 

favourite’s  chance  at  Epsom,  and  was  speedily  put  in 
possession  of  the  Major’s  newly-acquired  information. 

“ Wants  inquiring  into  a bit,  you  know  ; but  that  fellow 
Black  has  the  eye  of  a gled  for  the  market  and  the  nose  of 
a bloodhound  for  a dead  ’un.  I should  be  very  sorry  to 
back  a horse  of  which  he  held  this  opinion.” 

“Then,”  said  Furzedon,  “we  had  better  lay  against 
Belisarius  this  time,  instead  of  backing  him.  It’s  safer  as 
a rule,  and  at  his  present  price  there  is  a good  bit  of  money 
to  be  made.  Moreover,  if  Black  is  right,  he  will  go  back 
in  the  betting  before  the  race,  and  there  will  be  no  diffi- 
culty about  covering  our  money ; besides,  it  jumps  with 
my  own  inclinations;  not  that  I’m  such  a fool  as  ever  to 
be  swayed  by  them  in  matters  of  business ; but  it’s  pleasant 
when  they  happen  to  run  hand  in  hand.  I’ve  private 
reasons  of  my  own  for  hoping  Belisarius  will  not  win.” 
“Would  it  be  indiscreet,”  rejoined  Kynaston,  “to  ask 
those  reasons  ? ” 

“Very,  Major,”  said  Furzedon,  laughing;  “say  I don’t 
know  how  to  pronounce  his  confounded  name,  dislike  his 
colour,  the  cut  of  his  tail — anything.” 

“ That’s  settled,  then,”  rejoined  Kynaston  ; “ if  my 
inquiries  are  satisfactory,  we  decide  to  ^pepper  the 
favourite,’  to  what  extent  depends  upon  what  I hear.” 

“ All  right,”  replied  the  other,  as  he  took  his  leave. 
“ There’s  no  hurry,  I think.  I shall  see  you  again  in 
the  course  of  a day  or  two.” 

Ralph  Furzedon  had  not  overlooked  Prance  in  the  street, 
although  he  had  taken  no  notice  of  him ; but  he  had  not 
seen  that  he  came  out  of  the  Kynastons’  house,  nor  had 
he  the  slightest  idea  that  the  Major  even  knew  of  such  a 
person  in  existence. 

Suspicious  by  nature,  had  he  known  this  he  would  have 
been  at  once  on  his  guard.  He  was  thoroughly  aware  of 
Prance’s  enmity,  and  knew,  that,  though  the  man  could  do 
him  no  positive  harm,  yet  he  could  tell  stories  concerning 
him  which  he,  Furzedon,  would  just  as  soon  were  buried 
in  oblivion.  He  regarded  Prance  as  inocuous  simply 
because  any  disclosures  he  choose  to  make  could  only  be 
made  to  that  scum  of  the  Turf  with  which  he  habitually 


i86 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


consorted.  He  was  utterly  unaware  that  in  his  character 
as  tout  Sam  Prance  was  acquainted  with  many  men  like 
Kynaston  who  held  a fair  status  in  society. 

To  say  that  Gilbert  Slade  had  been  astonished  at  the 
news  young  Devereux  had  brought  back  from  London 
would  feebly  express  his  feelings,  He  was  thunderstruck, 
he  had  never  thought  of  that,  he  barely  knew  Furzedon, 
had  seen  very  little  of  him,  and  felt  very  indisposed  to  see 
more.  He  knew  that  he  was  intimate  with  the  Devereuxes, 
had  been  at  Cambridge  with  Charlie,  had  stayed  at  North 
Leach,  and  all  that,  but  he  never  pictured  him  as  a possible 
pretender  to  Lettice’s  hand.  It  might  be  said  that  he 
never  pictured  himself  in  that  capacity ; he  had  admired 
Miss  Devereux  very  much,  he  thought  her  a very  nice  girl, 
would  be  delighted  to  meet  her  again,  and  was  quite  in 
earnest  in  accepting  old  Tom  Devereux’s  invitation  to 
North  Leach. 

It  had  been  no  fault  of  his  the  visit  had  not  been  paid. 
His  answer  to  Charlie,  when  the  latter  suggested  it,  had 
been  perfectly  straightforward ; he  did  not  think  the  colonel 
was  likely  to  look  favourably  upon  an  application  for  leave 
from  the  new  recruit  at  present,  unless  he  could  advance 
some  very  serious  cause  for  requiring  it.  He  did  not  quite 
see  his  way  into  going  to  North  Leach  by  himself,  and  so 
that  visit  had  never  been  paid ; but  now  that  he  heard 
Miss  Devereux  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  somebody 
else  he  discovered  that  his  feelings  towards  her  were  very 
much  stronger  than  admiration. 

It  was  true  that  he  had  never  thought  of  marrying  her, 
but  then  he  had  never  thought  of  marrying  anybody. 
Marriage  was  a thing  that  had  taken  no  definite  shape  in 
his  mind — a ceremony  that  he  might  or  might  not  go 
through  in  years  to  come.  Even  if  he  had  ever  contem- 
plated it,  he  knew  it  was  a thing  that  would  be  warmly 
opposed  by,  at  all  events,  one  of  his  relations.  It  was  only 
the  other  day  that  his  Uncle  Bob,  when  joking  him  about 
Miss  Devereux,  had  reminded  him  that  he  would  give  no 
consent  to  his  marriage  before  he  got  his  troop ; and, 
although  he  was  within  very  measurable  distance  of  that 
longed-for  piece  ol  promotion,  still  there  was  no  immediate 


FURZEDON  PROPOSES. 


187 


prospect  of  its  taking  place,  and  two  or  three  years  might 
elapse  before  he  saw  himself  in  the  Gazette,  He  couldn’t 
understand  it  ; wellj^  he  supposed  money  was  everything 
now-a-days ; and  yet  he  had  thought  Lettice  not  a girl  of 
that  sort  either.  He  was  not  likely  ever  to  be  a man  of 
more  than  moderate  means  himself;  and,  though  he  would 
probably  inherit  his  Uncle  Braddock’s  property  eventu- 
ally, yet,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  that  was  not 
likely  to  take  place  for  many  years.  Well,  if  the  thing 
was  done,  there  was  an  end  of  it.  Charlie  was  not  likely 
to  be  misinformed  on  such  a subject  as  this.  However, 
they  were  both  going  up  to  London  at  the  end  of  the 
month  to  see  Belisarius  win  ; Miss  Devereux  would,  no 
doubt,  be  in  town  about  that  time.  He  would  see  her 
then,  and  judge  for  himself;  he  would,  at  all  events,  dis- 
cover whether  it  was  true  that  she  was  engaged  to  F urzedon. 


XXVI. — Furzedon  Proposes. 

so  hard  but  cometh  to  an  end,**  as  the  old 
poet  sings. 

The  workmen  are  out  of  the  house  at  last,  the  long- 
looked-for  invitation  has  been  despatched,  and  Lettie 
Devereux  responds  to  it,  has  made  her  curtsey  in  Onslow 
Gardens — little  knowing  how  anxiously  her  appearance  m 
town  was  looked  forward  to  by  well-nigh  half-a-dozen 
people.  Her  arrival  was  speedily  notified  to  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton,  and  through  her — directly  or  indirectly — Furzedon, 
Charlie,  Slade,  etc.,  were  quickly  aware  that  Miss  Deve- 
reux was  once  more  residing  under  the  shelter  of  her  aunt’s 
wing.  Animated  was  the  conversation  between  Mrs.  Ky- 
naston  and  Furzedon  when,  upon  receipt  of  the  news,  the 
latter  called  in  to  see  the  lady  who  was  kind  enough  to 
manage  the  tangled  skein  of  his  love-affair. 

“ And  you  think  Fm  right,  Mrs.  Kynaston  ? ” said  Furze- 
don, at  the  close  of  the  conference  of  some  half-hour’s 
duration,  You  would  strike  at  once  ? ’* 


i88 


SADDLE  AND  SABRBl 


“ Decidedly,”  rejoined  the  lady.  Your  plan  of  action  is 
admirable.  Come  to  the  point  without  loss  of  time.  Back 
out  of  it  if  you  find  it  going  against  you  ; say  you  will  not 
venture  to  press  for  an  answer  as  yet ; that  when  Miss  Deve- 
reux  knows  you  better  she  will  be  perhaps  better  able  to 
recognise  your  devotion.  Pshaw ! Any  man  out  of  his  teens 
knows  the  whole  gamut  usually  run  up  and  down  on  these 
occasions.  And,  remember,  you  must  not  be  disheartened 
by  one  rebuff.  Lettice  is  country-bred,  and  the  provincial 
mind  does  not  expand  quite  so  early  as  that  of  a London 
young  lady.  Still,  I think  she  is  rapidly  awakening,  and 
already  understands  the  insipidity  of  life  at  North  Leach.” 

“ Thanks,  very  much,”  rejoined  Furzedon.  I shall  do 
precisely  what  you  recommend  ; and,  acting  further  on 
what  you  tell  me,  return  to  the  charge  should  Belisarius 
lose  the  Derby;  pleading  that  the  help  Charlie  could  accept 
from  a brother-in-law  he  would  feel  compelled  to  decline 
from  a friend.  Wish  me  good  luck,  Mrs.  Kynaston,  and  I 
will  bid  you  good-day.” 

‘‘All  success  to  you,”  replied  the  lady;  “don’t  be  too 
abrupt  this  time;  and  should  it  not  be  successful — ah,  well ! 
I shall  see  you  before  it  is  judicious  to  deliver  the  second 
assault.  It  may  not  be  necessary ; but,  should  it  be  so,  I 
will  advise  you  once  more.  May  good  fortune  attend  you ! ” 

When  a man’s  feelings  are  deeply  interested,  the  asking 
a woman  to  marry  him  is  doubtless,  if  not  a mauvais  quart 
d'heure^  at  least  a very  nervous  one ; but  in  Furzedon’s 
case  it  was  not  so.  He  admired  Lettice  Devereux,  he 
liked  Lettice  Devereux,  and  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  persuaded 
him  that  she  would  make  him  a good  wife.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  marry  her,  and  was  very  resolute  to  attain 
his  end,  but,  as  for  saying  he  was  in  love  with  her,  that 
was  quite  another  thing ; he  would  feel  no  despair  in  case 
of  rejection ; he  would  still  sap  steadily  forward  to  attain 
his  object  as  he  would  to  attain  any  other  object  that  he 
considered  essential  to  his  success  in  life  ; but,  let  him  once 
be  convinced  that  this  thing  was  beyond  his  reach,  and  he 
was  not  likely  to  either  break  his  heart  about  it  or  to  dis- 
play any  great  animosity  to  those  who  should  thwart  his 
purpose.  At  the  present  moment  he  would  have  sacrificed 


FURZEDON  PROPOSES. 


189 

ruthlessly  any  one  who  stood  in  his  way ; but,  the  game 
once  given  against  him,  he  would  trouble  his  head  no 
further  about  his  successful  rival.  A strong  hater  and 
vindictive  man,  when  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  feel 
aggrieved,  but  feeling  no  resentment  towards  those  who 
got  the  best  of  him  on  any  point,  the  thing  once  over. 

Proposing  with  the  expectation  of  being  refused  is,  to 
borrow  a phrase  from  the  hunting-field,  like  “ riding  for  a 
fall.”  It  requires  nerve,  and  is  not . exhilarating , but  in 
both  cases  there  must  remain  a feeling  of  much  satisfaction 
when  the  thing  is  safely  done  with.  Furzedon  by  no  means 
liked  the  business  before  him  ; but  he  had  made  uphis  mind 
to  do  this  thing,  and  do  it  he  would.  And  in  this  frame  of 
mind  he  wended  his  way  to  Onslow  Gardens  as  soon  as 
he  heard  of  Miss  Devereux’s  arrival  there.  If  he  could 
make  the  opportunity,  he  would  ask  the  question  without 
further  delay.  The  knotty  question  that  puzzled  him  on 
his  way  there  was,  how  he  was  to  get  Mrs.  Connop  out  of 
the  way ; and  that  at  last  he  was  fain  to  confess  was  beyond 
him.  He  repented  now  that  he  had  not  besought  his  con- 
fidante’s aid ; Mrs.  Kynaston,  he  felt  sure,  could  have 
managed  that  matter  for  him  had  he  but  asked  her.  Now 
he  could  only  trust  to  the  chapter  of  accidents.  When  he 
arrived  at  Onslow  Gardens,  he  found  both  ladies  in  the 
drawing-room  ; and  the  thoroughly  unembarrassed  manner 
in  which  Lettie  welcomed  him  would  have  convinced  a far 
less  shrewd  man  than  Furzedon  that,  whatever  her  answer 
might  be,  her  feelings  would  have  very  little  to  do  with  it. 
At  all  events,  guided  by  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  revelation  and 
her  own  observation,  Mrs.  Connop  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  Furzedon  had  no  chance ; “ and,”  mused  the  old  lady, 
if  he  is  fool  enough  to  think  so,  the  sooner  that  bit  of 
nonsense  is  knocked  out  of  his  head  the  better.”  So,  after 
a quarter  of  an  hour’s  desultory  conversation,  she  rose,  and, 
under  some  frivolous  pretext  about  finishing  a letter,  left 
the  room,  and  gave  Ralph  Furzedon  the  opportunity  he 
desired. 

He  had  one  point  in  his  favour,  and  that  was,  that  be 
was  oppressed  by  no  nervousness.  He  had  got  his  chance, 
and  determined  to  come  to  the  point  as  quickly  as  possible» 


igo 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


“ I have  been  most  anxious  to  see  you,  Miss  Devereux,” 
he  commenced. 

“ Very  good  of  you  to  say  so,’*  replied  Lettie.  “ You 
can’t  have  been  more  anxious  to  see  me  than  I have  been 
to  see  London.” 

“ I have  got  something  to  ask  of  you — a great  favour  to 
beg  of  you.” 

“ Stop,  Mr.  .Furzedon,”  interrupted  the  girl.  “ Remem- 
ber, it  is  unwise  to  ask  favours,  unless  you’ve  good  grounds 
for  supposing  they  will  be  granted.” 

I have  very  fair  grounds  for  supposing  that  my  request 
will  be  listened  to,  at  all  events.  No  man  can  lay  claim 
to  more.  I am  a great  friend  of  your  brother’s;  well  known 
to  all  your  people ; well-to-do.  I might  go  further,  and  say 
wealthy.” 

“ It  is  quite  unnecessary,  Mr.  Furzedon,  to  go  through 
a catalogue  of  your  social  advantages,”  replied  Lettie,  with 
just  a tinge  of  bitterness.  She  made  no  pretext  of  not 
understanding  what  her  companion  was  driving  at,  but 
was  a little  nettled  that  he  so  peristently  ignored  the  hint 
that  she  had  given  him.  “ To  a friend  of  Charlie’s,”  she 
continued,  I would  grant  any  request  that  I had  given 
him  reasonable  grounds  for  supposing  I would  say  ‘ Yes’  to.” 

“ It  is  difficult  for  a man  to  interpret  that  phrase.  We 
are  not  as  quick  as  you  to  read  what  are  reasonable 
grounds.  Some  of  your  sex — and  they  are  those  best 
worth  winning — will  give  a man  scant  encouragement  until 
he  has  put  such  request  in  formal  words.  It  is  natural.  A 
sensitive  girl  is  afraid  of  committing  herself  before  a man 
has  spoken.” 

“ But  if  a girl  has  not  only  given  the  man  no  encourage- 
ment to  speak,  but  has  done  her  best  to  warn  him  that  he 
is  about  to  ask  a foolish  question — ^what  then  ? ” 

He  was  clever  to  fence  and  fought  his  up-hill  battle 
doggedly  and  with  tact.  “ I think,”  he  replied,  gravely, 
“ it  should  deserve  better  than  to  be  called  a foolish  ques- 
tion. When  a man  lays  his  life  and  fortune  at  a woman’s 
feet  he  is  paying  her  the  greatest  compliment  that  lies 
within  his  power,  at  all  events.” 

beg  your  pardon,  Mr,  Furzedon,  rejoined  Lettie, 


FURZEDON  PROPOSES. 


I91 

quickly.  **  I don’t  pretend  to  misunderstand  you,  but  you 
must  know  this  thing  cannot  be.  I welcomed  you  as  my 
^ brother’s  friend ; I have  given  you  no  cause  to  suppose 
'that  I had  any  further  feelings  towards  you.  Let  us 
remain  friends,  and  forget  that  this  conversation  has  ever 
taken  place.” 

“ I shall  never  forget  it,”  he  replied,  brusquely ; “ and  I 
refuse  to  take  this  for  your  final  answer.  I can  wait,  and 
trust  to  time  and  my  devotion  to  plead  for  me ; but  as 
long  as  no  one  else  has  won  your  hand  I shall  ever  be  a 
pretender  to  it.  I am  answered  for  the  present,  and  am 
not  likely  to  intrude  the  subject  upon  you  again  for  some 
time.” 

“ I thank  you  for  the  compliment  you  have  paid  me,” 
replied  Lettie,  with  some  little  stateliness,  and  rising,  “but, 
believe  me,  my  answer  is  irrevocable.” 

Ralph  Furzedon  took  the  hint  and  his  hat.  “You  will 
make  my  adieux  to  Mrs.  Connop,”  he  said,  with  a low  bow  ; 
“ and  you  won’t  object  to  say  good-bye  ; ” and  as  he  spoke 
he  extended  his  hand.  Their  palms  crossed  for  a moment, 
and  then  Ralph  Furzedon  descended  into  the  street,  and 
began  to  reflect  on  the  result  of  the  battle. 

“ That’s  the  end  of  the  first  round,”  he  muttered,  “ to 
use  the  language  of  the  prize-ring.  Well ! I expected  to 
get  the  worst  of  it,  and  I did ; but  I can  hardly  be  said  to 
have  been  badly  beaten.  No  ; I don’t  think  I threw  a 
chance  away.  I am  now  a declared  pretender  to  her  hand. 
A rejected  one,  it  is  true.  She  can  plead  no  ignorance  of 
the  state  of  the  case  for  the  future.  Moreover,  I have  had 
resort  to  no  subterfuges,  but  the  very  venial  one  of  saying 
that  she  will  hear  no  more  of  my  request  for  some  time. 
Should  Belisarius  be  beaten  at  Epsom  I shall  most  cer- 
tainly have  to  urge  the  same  request  again,  with  the 
additional  argument  that  a wealthy  brother-in-law  would 
represent  the  good  genii  that  would  assist  Master  Charlie 
out  of  his  scrape.  I only  trust  that  he  may  still  further 
complicate  matters  at  Epsom.  I'm  not  given  to  throwing 
money  away,  but  I should  not  grudge  a good  round  sum  n 
it  brought  me  Miss  Devereux’s  hand.” 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  contradictions  of  our  oatiire 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


19s 

that  Ralph  Furzedon  had  never  felt  such  admiration  for 
Lattice  as  in  the  moment  of  his  rejection'.  He  was  struck 
with  her  spirit,  and  at  the  same  time  the  womanly  way  in 
which  she  strove  to  soften  her  refusal.  He  had  wanted 
her  for  his  wife  ; that  was  nothing.  He  thought  she  would 
further  his  ambition  once  placed  in  that  position  ; but  now, 
for  the  first  time,  the  feeling  of  love  was  aroused  within 
his  breast,  and  he  resolved  that  he  would  not  resign  his 
pretension  to  Lettie’s  hand  as  long  as,  by  fair  means  or 
foul,  he  saw  the  slightest  chance  of  winning  it ; and  Furze- 
don was  a man  likely  to  put  a very  liberal  construction  on 
the  old  adage,  “ All’s  fair  in  love  or  war.** 

Mrs.  Connop  waited  until  she  heard  the  front  door  close, 
and  then  at  once  descended  to  the  drawing-room.  She 
was  not  a little  anxious  to  hear  the  result  of  the  interview, 
and,  not  being  given  to  beating  about  the  bush,  went 
straight  to  the  point  at  once. 

“Well,  Lettie,**  she  exclaimed,  “what  did  you  say  to 
him  ? Pooh  ! child,  there  is  no  need  to  make  any  mystery 
about  it.  I know  very  well  that  Mr.  Furzedon  came  down 
here  to-day  to  ask  you  to  marry  him,  and  I went  out  of  the 
room  to  give  him  a chance  of  doing  so.** 

“ Surely,  aunt,  you  don*t  think  that  I ought  to  have 
said ** 

“ Ah  ! you*ve  said  ‘ No,*  then.  I thought  you  would. 
But,  as  I was  told  he  was  determined  to  ask  the  question, 
I thought  the  sooner  it  was  over  the  better.  Quite  right, 
my  dear.  I like  the  other  one  best,  ever  so  much.** 

“ I don’t  understand  you,”  rejoined  Lettie,  a little  stiffly. 
“ Oh  I yes,  you  do,  and  agree  with  me,  also,”  retorted 
Mrs.  Connop,  laughing.  “ However,  in  the  meantime,  run 
up-stairs,  and  get  your  bonnet  on  ; you  will  only  have  just 
time  for  a cup  of  tea  before  the  carriage  comes  round.” 
Miss  Devereux  thought  it  wisest  to  close  the  discussion. 
She  did  not  want  to  explain  that  Gilbert  Slade  had  made 
no  sign  since  last  November,  and  that,  though  he  had  cer- 
tainly given  her  cause  to  suppose  he  cared  a good  deal 
about  her,  he  had  not  quite  gone  the  length  that  justified 
the  girl  in  calling  him  her  lover.  It  was,  indeed,  rather  a 
1^1:^  subject  with  Miss  PevereuiL  at  present,  and  any 


FURZEDON  PROPOSES.  I93 

coupling  of  her  name  with  Gilbert  Slade  she  was  sure  to 
resent  sharply. 

Up  in  the  North,  meanwhile,  expectation  ran  high.  All 
Yorkshire  was  agog  to  see  the  big  race  of  the  South  once 
more  carried  off  by  a north-country  horse.  The  land  of 
ham  was  on  Belisarius  to  a man,  and  at  the  York  Club  the 
latest  bulletin  concerning  Bill  Smith’s  crack  was  eagerly 
promulgated  and  discussed.  Some  of  the  old  hands,  who 
had  witnessed  Bill  Smith’s  career  from  his  first  race  as  a 
stable-boy  to  the  triumphs  of  his  zenith,  and  also  been 
present  at  the  mistakes  of  his  later  days,  shook  their  heads 
and  said,  “Yes,  the  horse  is  doing  splendidly  no  doubt — 
how  about  the  man  ? You  young  gentlemen  who  back 
Belisarius  will  do  well  to  remember  that  the  jockey  is  more 
difficult  to  bring  fit  to  the  post  than  the  horse.” 

To  which  the  partisans  of  Belisarius  rejoined,  “ Non- 
sense, we  know  Bill  Smith’s  weakness,  of  course,  but  he’s 
not  a fool.  He  can  take  himself  by  the  head  when  it  is 
worth  his  while.  He  was  all  right  at  Newmarket,  and 
you’ll  see  he  will  be  all  right  at  Epsom.” 

Now,  though  this  doubt  was  in  the  mouths  of  a good 
many  people  in  his  own  country,  yet  the  way  he  had  ridden 
his  horse  in  the  Two  Thousand  had  generally  wiped  out  all 
misgivings  concerning  Bill  Smith’s  sobriety  in  the  South. 
It  was  believed  that  he  had  turned  over  a new  leaf,  and 
that  the  discovering  himself  to  be  the  owner  of  such  a flyer 
as  Belisarius  had  worked  a complete  reformation  in  his 
character — at  least  for  the  present.  This  more  sanguine 
view  of  the  case  was  undoubtedly  prevalent  among  tlie 
Turf  circles  in  the  metropolis,  though  shrewd  observers, 
like  Mr.  Black,  noted  that  there  was  a small  knot  of  specu- 
lators who  seemed  unremitting  in  their  hostility  to  Beli- 
sarius. Clever  'men  too,  and  by  no  means  given  to  bet 
foolishly;  and,  now  that  Dick  Kynaston’s  attention  had 
been  called  to  it,  he  was  speedily  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
what  Prance  had  told  him.  Very  cautious  and  wary  were 
these  men,  not  to  be  beguiled  into  laying  a longer  price, 
but  always  prepared  to  show  their  disbelief  in  the  Two 
Thousand  winner  whenever  anybody  offered  to  take  half  a 
point  less  than  the  odds.  What  they  were  going  on  the 


194 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Major  did  not  know,  and  that  was  a riddle  he  was  very 
anxious  to  arrive  at. 

Curiously,  the  first  hint  of  the  danger  that  threatened 
Belisarius  came  to  Kynaston  from  his  wife.  “ I got  a letter 
from  Charlie  Devereux  this  morning,’*  she  remarked,  as 
the  Major  looked  into  the  drawing-room  for  a moment, 
previous  to  marching  off  to  lunch  at  his  club,  “ and  he 
says  that  some  of  the  old  racing-men  at  York  are  rather 
incredulous  about  Bill  Smith’s  riding  a Derby  winner  once 
more.  They  say  the  horse  is  all  right,  but  that  the  man 
cannot  be  trusted  to  keep  from  drinking;  rather  a bore 
should  they  prove  right,  for,  as  you  know,  I have  backed 
him  what  lor  me  is  pretty  stiffly  ; however,  I don’t  suppose 
these  old  fossils  know  much  about  it.  I am  very  sorry  for 
Charlie,”  continued  Mrs.  Kynaston,  “ for  as  we  know, 
Dick,  when  it  comes  to  Turf  matters,  the  * old  fossils  * are 
apt  to  know  a good  deal  more  than  young  people  who  are 
just  beginning  to  study  them.  Does  this  jockey.  Smith, 
drink  so  ?” 

Yes,”  rejoined  the  Major,  I begin  to  understand  it 
now.  That’s  why  those  fellows  are  so  keen  to  lay  against 
Belisarius.  Bill  Smith  is  one  of  the  finest  horsemen  out, 
but  he  can’t  now-a-days  be  depended  upon  to  keep  sober,” 
and  with  these  words  the  Major  left  the  room. 


XXVII. — News  from  Bellaton  Wold# 

May  crept  on  ; it  wanted  just  one  fortnight  to  the 
Derby.  The  mails  from  the  North  conveyed  a letter 
that  morning  of  much  interest  to  most  of  the  characters  in 
this  narrative.  It  was  addressed  to  Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe, 
Bart.,  and  ran  as  follows 

^ ••  Dear  Radcliffe, 

“There  is  rarely  smoke  without  fire,  and  the 
rumours  that  reached  us  from  the  North  were  by  no  means 
unfounded,  although  not  so  bad  as  reported.  The  horse 
never  was  better ; but  Bill,  undoubtedly,  has  not  altt^ 


NEWS  FROM  BELLATON  WOLD. 


195 


gether  stopped  celebrating  the  Two  Thousand  victory.  It 
was  high  time  somebody  came  to  look  after  him  ; and,  as 
you  know,  he’s  not  very  tractable  to  deal  with.  Still,  he 
will  stand  more  from  either  you  or  me  than  any  one  else. 
I’ve  got  him  well  in  hand  now,  and,  though  he  is  a good 
bit  off  a teetotaller,  yet  he  will  do  no  harm  if  I can  only 
keep  him  where  he  is.  I shall  stay  here  for  another  week  ; 
and  then,  I am  sorry  to  say,  I am  compelled  to  come  back 
to  London.  Could  you  take  my  place  here  for  the  last  few 
days  ? If  we  can  only  bring  both  to  the  post,  all  will  be 
right ; they’ll  take  a deal  of  beating  on  Epsom  Downs. 
Belisarius  will  strip  a few  pounds  better  horse  than  he  did 
at  Newmarket ; and  I like  him  better  every  time  I see  him 
gallop.  If  you  possibly  can  come,  do.  It  is  a great  coup 
to  land,  and  we  ought  to  throw  no  chance  away  in  order 
to  bring  it  about ; and,  though  I’ve  got  Bill  pretty  straight 
at  present,  I don’t  like  leaving  him  alone.  However,  if  you 
can  come,  I’m  sure  you  will. 

“ Yours  always, 

“ Norman  Slade.” 

Sir  Ronald  knit  his  brows  when  he  received  this  letter. 
He  saw  clearly  that,  as  a matter  of  common  precaution,  it 
behoved  him  to  relieve  Norman  Slade  at  his  post , but 
what  was  he  to  do  ? He  had  just  been  summoned  to  what 
promised  to  be  the  death-bed  of  an  aunt  from  whom  he 
had  considerable  expectations;  a whimsical  old  woman, 
who  indulged  in  periodical  visitations  of  this  nature ; upon 
which  occasions  she  was  in  the  habit  of  summoning  all  her 
nearest  relatives  to  the  ceremony, — “ a disappointing  old 
woman,”  as  her  graceless  nephew  called  her,  “ who  was 
always  going,  but  never  gone.”  “ If,”  argued  Sir  Ronald, 
still  knitting  his  brows  over  Slade’s  letter,  “ she  did  make 
a die  of  it  this  time,  I dare  say  it  would  be  all  right ; but 
if,  after  her  manner,  she  comes  round,  she  would  cut  me 
out  of  her  will  for  what  she  would  term  my  heartless 
ingratitude  and  want  of  affection  for  her.  Hang  it  all ! 
after  humouring  her  tantrums  all  these  years,  it  isn’t  wise 
to  chance  ofiending  her  now  ; it  is  like  paying  the  premium 
on  a life  insurance  and  letting  it  drop  just  as  it  promised 


196 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


to  recoup  one.  Hang  me  if  I know  what  to  do.  I stand 
to  win  a good  stake  on  either  event.  In  the  case  of  Beli- 
sarius,  I know  exactly  how  much ; in  the  case  of  my  ven- 
erated aunt,  I don’t  exactly.  Which  shall  it  be  ? Which 
is  most  risky  : the  will  of  a capricious  old  woman,  or  the 
success  of  a racer  ridden  by  a jockey  whose  sobriety 
cannot  be  relied  on  ? I’ve  long  odds  in  both  cases  ; and, 
by  Jove,  I ought  to  have  ! for  it  would  be  hard  to  say 
which  is  the  greatest  toss-up  I am  hard-up  enough, 
heaven  knows  ; and  it  is  a case  of  which  looks  most  lucra- 
tive, watching  over  the  infirmities  of  my  elderly  relative, 
or  watching  over  that  peculiar  weakness  of  Bill  Smith’s. 
It’s  a nuisance,  a great  nuisance  ; but  I can’t  be  in  both 
places,  and  I think  the  Honourable  Miss  Shothouse  has 
it : and  I must  trust  to  Bill  Smith’s  eye  to  his  own  interest 
to  keep  him  straight  till  all  is  over.  Norman  won’t  like  it, 
nor  do  I ; but  it  can’t  be  helped,  and  I must  write  and  tell 
him  so.” 

Norman  Slade  was  much  disappointed  at  Sir  Ronald’s 
answer  to  his  note.  He  stayed  his  appointed  time,  and 
saw  Belisarius  with  the  veteran  jockey  in  the  saddle  do  a 
rattling  good  gallop  on  the  very  morning  of  his  departure. 
“ It  should  come  off.  Bill,”  he  exclaimed,  as  he  said  good- 
bye, ‘‘  only  take  as  much  care  of  yourself  as  you  do  of  the 
colt,  and  I think  you’ll  beat  ’em  all  at  Epsom.” 

The  opponents  of  the  favourite  were  apparently  well 
informed.  Whether  the  knowledge  that  Norman  Slade 
had  left  Bellaton  Moor,  and  that  Bill  Smith  was  left  there 
by  himself,  influenced  their  calculations  it  is  impossible  to 
say,  but  certain  it  is  that  the  last  few  days  before  the  race 
the  horse  became  a slightly  worse  favourite  in  the  market 
than  he  had  been.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  British  public 
made  him  their  champion,  and  put  down  their  money. 
The  ranks  of  the  opposition  daily  gathered  strength,  and 
that  most  ominous  sign  of  all  to  a veteran  Turf-goer  pre- 
sented itself — to  wit,  that  the  more  money  Belisarius  was 
backed  for  the  worse  favourite  he  became.  Norman  Slade 
noted  this  uneasily,  and  Sir  Ronald,  still  dancing  attend- 
ance upon  his  revered  aunt,  was  equally  conscious  of  th« 
unpleasant  phenomenon,  but  he  could  not  get  away,  and 


NEWS  FROM  BELLATON  WOLD. 


197 


Miss  Shothouse  was  displaying  her  accustomed  vacillation 
on  the  subject  of  her  departure.  She  showed  all  the  pro- 
crastination of  Charles  II.  without  his  politeness  ; and,  as 
Sir  Ronald  said  at  the  expiration  of  the  second  day,  ‘‘  the 
whole  thing  was  a fraud,”  and  that  the  Honourable  Miss 
Shothouse  would  probably  repeat  this  comedy  a good  half- 
dozen  times  before  making  her  final  bow  to  the  public. 

It  was  not  till  the  Saturday  before  Epsom  that  the  old 
lady  would  admit  that  the  crisis  was  over,  and  that  there 
was  a fair  expectation  of  her  recovery.  Sir  Ronald  waited 
no  longer.  He  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  his  aunt, 
expressed  the  warmest  satisfaction  that  she  was  still  spared 
to  them,  and,  with  no  little  irritation  simmering  in  his 
breast,  took  his  way  back  to  town.  One  of  the  first  per- 
sons he  sought  on  his  arrival  was  Norman  Slade. 

Very  unlucky  you  couldn’t  go,”  observed  that  gentle- 
man ; “it  would  have  been  safer ; my  bulletins  from 
Bellaton  are  excellent,  that  is  to  say,  the  horse  is  all  right ; 
but  of  course  my  information  about  the  man  is  more  hazy. 
Old  Bill  has  been  out  every  morning  himself,  I hear,  and 
that’s  something  ; and  of  course  there’s  no  one  up  there 
whom  I could  trust  to  furnish  me  with  the  exact  state  of 
the  case.  There  is  nothing  to  make  one  suspect  there 
is  anything  wrong  except  this  disposition  to  lay  against 
the  colt.” 

“ Well,  Bellaton  is  a pretty  close  borough.  Old  Bill  is 
not  given  to  stand  any  prying  into  the  secrets  of  his 
training-ground.  The  chances  are  these  people  don’t 
know  anything  certain,  but  are  speculating  on  his  past 
unsteadiness.  I’ll  tell  you  what  though,  old  man,  there’ll 
be  no  harm  in  having  a second  string.” 

“ By  gad  you’re  right,”  replied  Slade  ; “ Til  see  about  it 
at  once,  and  engage  the  best  available  jockey,  in  case  Bill 
is — well — too  unwell  to  ride.” 

“ Rather  dull  of  us  not  to  think  of  it  before,”  replied  the 
Baronet,  “ it  will  be  difficult  to  pick  out  a good  man  now, 
all  the  best  are  engaged.  A good  jockey  is  always  a gres.t 
point,  but  over  the  Derby  course  it  is  an  essential.  That 
race  has  been  gftener  won  by  riding  than  any  other  ia 
England.” 


19* 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


“ Quite  right ! we  must  do  the  best  we  can  ; and  if  Bill 
is  only  himself  Fd  ask  no  better  jockey ; but  I’ll  lose  no 
time  in  seeing  about  somebody  to  take  his  place.” 

It  may  be  perhaps  because  it  is  the  greatest  race  in 
England,  because  it  is  the  greatest  race  in  the  world,  that 
whenever  the  finish  of  the  Derby  is  a very  close  thing, 
there  is  invariably  much  discussion  as  to  whether  with 
another  jockey  the  second  horse  ought  not  to  have  been 
first.  In  ’52  it  was  said  that  Frank  Butler,  the  victor, 
could  have  won  upon  any  one  of  the  first  four.  In  ’66, 
when  Lord  Lyon  defeated  Savernake  by  a head,  dissatis- 
faction was  expressed  by  the  supporters  of  the  latter  at  hia 
rider’s  performance.  They  change  the  jockey  at  Don- 
caster, and  the  Epsom  form  was  confirmed  to  an  eye-lash. 
Veteran  Turfites  still  wrangle  in  club  smoking-rooms  as  to 
whether  Macaroni  did  beat  Lord  Clifton,  and  whether 
Pero  Gomez  or  Pretender  really  won  the  Derby.  These 
are  things  to  which  we  can  only  appeal  to  the  judge’s 
verdict.  But  there  is  probably  no  race  more  calculated  to 
demand  all  the  resources  of  a fine  horseman — nerve,  head, 
judgment  of  pace,  etc. — than  the  great  national  contest  on 
Epsom  Downs. 

As  the  day  drew  near  Charlie  became  feverishly  anxious 
on  the  subject ; he  listened  eagerly  for  every  rumour  he 
could  hear  concerning  it ; and,  as  may  be  supposed,  in  the 
sporting  neighbourhood  in  which  he  was  quartered  ‘‘  the 
shaves”  were  numerous.  Fresh  horses  cropped  up  in  the 
betting  who  were  reported  to  have  won  trials,  that,  if  true, 
must  have  placed  the  race  at  their  mercy. 

Charlie  was  very  anxious  that  Gilbert  should  write  to 
his  uncle,  and  once  more  inquire  what  he  thought  of 
Belisarius’s  chance ; but  the  other  was  decided  in  his 
rejoinder. 

‘‘You  don’t  know  my  uncle,  or  you  would  never  suggest 
such  a thing.  If  I began  to  bother  him  about  racing,  he 
not  only  would  never  tell  me  anything  again,  but  fight 
very  shy  of  me  to  boot.  No,  when  we  get  up  to  London 
I’ll  just  ask  him  then,  and  have  no  doubt  that  he’ll  tell  me 
what  he  knows.  I vote  we  are  off  Saturday,  and  make  a 
good  long  week  of  it” 


NEWS  FROM  BELLATON  WOLD. 


199 


**  All  right ! replied  young  Devereux,  “ I’m  good  to 
staxt  whenever  you  give  the  word.”  And  accordingly  the 
morning  of  that  day  the  pair  took  their  places  in  the 
express  for  town,  Charlie  almost  smothered  in  the  sporting 
papers  that  he  had  bought  with  which  to  beguile  the  way. 

The  vaticinations  of  the  various  writers  on  the  coming 
race  afforded  him  considerable  comfort,  as  most  of  the 
prophets  predicted  the  success  of  Belisarius — and  with 
Charlie  the  victory  of  that  colt  meant  extrication  from  a 
very  unpleasant  scrape.  As  for  Bertie  Slade,  he  was  very 
silent ; except  for  his  companion’s  sake,  he  felt  rather 
indifferent  as  to  the  result  of  the  Derby.  His  mind  was 
absorbed  in  the  one  question.  Could  this  thing  be  true  ? 
Was  Lettice  Devereux  really  engaged  to  that  fellow  Furze- 
don  ? He  would  know  for  certain  this  week — aye,  know 
from  her  own  lips.  And  yet,  when  he  thought  of  that,  it 
did  not  seem  quite  so  easy  as  he  had  first  pictured  it.  He 
did  not  feel  that  he  could  ask  her  the  question  unless  he 
could  plead  his  own  love,  and  the  hope  that  he  had  not 
told  his  own  tale  too  late.  To  offer  her  formal  congratu- 
lations, and  so  get  at  the  truth  that  way,  would,  he  felt,  be 
a mockery — almost  an  insult.  Was  it  likely  that  either 
Mrs.  Kynaston  or  Charlie  would  be  misinformed  about  a 
thing  like  this  ? No  ; he  had  been  a fool ; he  might  have 
known  that  a girl  like  Lettice  Devereux  would  not  be  left 
to  wait  long  for  the  gathering.  He  had  flattered  himself 
he  had  a chance,  and  he  thought  he  had  stood  high  in  her 
good  graces ; but  then  he  had  not  declared  himself.  Still, 
to  be  cut  out  by  a fellow  like  Furzedon — a brute  whose 
only  redeeming  point  was,  apparently,  that  he  had  money. 
He  knew  next  to  nothing  of  Furzedon,  and  had  no  know- 
ledge whatever  of  the  many  objectionable  points  connected 
with  that  gentleman’s  career  ; but  a rejected  suitor — and, 
if  this  story  of  Charlie’s  was  true,  he  might  regard  himself 
in  that  light — rarely  forms  a just  estimate  of  his  success- 
ful rival. 

How  it  would  have  stirred  Bertie  Slade’s  pulses  could 
he  but  have  known  that  his  rival  was  deeply  interested  in 
this  race,  that  he  had  travelled  all  the  way  from  York  to 
see , interested,  but  in  just  the  contrary  way.  Chiefly  as 


200 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


a means  of  wringing  a reluctant  consent  from  Miss  Deve- 
reux,  Furzedon  was  awaiting  with  no  little  impatience  the 
defeat  of  Belisarius.  He  was  prepared  to  go,  indeed,  no 
little  length  to  compass  it,  should  he  only  see  his  way 
without  much  risk  of  detection.  He  turned  the  thing  over 
again  and  again  in  his  mind,  and  at  last  thought  he  saw  his 
way  to  assist  at  that  conclusion.  To  attempt  to  bribe  Bill 
Smith  would  be  useless,  the  horse  was  his  own  ; and,  even 
supposing  he  could  be  bought,  it  would  probably  require  a 
large  sum  to  make  it  better  worth  his  while  to  lose  than  to 
win.  Then,  too,  Bill  Smith  was  a notoriously  queer- 
tempered  man,  difficult  to  approach  on  so  delicate  a subject, 
and  quite  likely  to  denounce  him  at  once  to  the  stewards 
of  the  meeting,  an  open  scandal  which  Furzedon  shuddered 
to  think  of.  But  he  might  be  got  at  through  his  besetting 
weakness,  and  the  emissaries  he  employed  would  leave  no 
tangible  evidence  behind  them.  Genial  souls  only  too 
pleased  to  fill  the  wine-cup,  and  hobnob  with  the  famous 
jockey,  who  could  suspect  them  of  ulterior  motives  ? 

Pecuniarily  also  Furzedon  desired  the  favourite’s  defeat. 
Dick  Kynaston  had  wormed  out  that  the  shrewd  speculators 
who  so  persistently  opposed  Belisarius  were  acting  upon 
the  belief  that  when  it  came  to  the  point  Bill  Smith  would 
be  in  no  condition  to  ride,  and  that  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
the  securing  of  even  a decent  jockey  would  be  impossible. 
Ralph  Furzedon  and  the  Major,  acting  on  this  inspiration, 
had  followed  suit,  and  now  stood  numbered  amongst  the 
pronounced  opponents  of  Belisarius;  in  fact,  that  colt’s 
victory  would  cost  them  both  a considerable  sum  of  money. 
Furzedon  had  very  little  doubt  that  the  two  or  three  book- 
makers who  so  persistently  laid  against  the  horse  would 
endeavour  to  assist  their  own  forecast  of  Bill  Smith’s 
probable  state  on  the  Wednesday  morning.  Still  he 
thought  that  it  would  be  quite  as  well  if  he  also  did  what 
little  he  could  to  contribute  to  the  defeat  of  Belisarius. 
There  was  no  necessity  for  taking  the  Major  into  his  con- 
fidence ; on  the  contrary,  it  was  far  better  he  should  know 
nothing  whatever  about  it.  Furzedon  knew  very  well 
where  to  lay  his  hand  amongst  his  myrmidons  on  a couple 
of  the  sort  he  wanted ; rollicking  men,  who  would  go  down, 


DIRE  MISGIVINGS. 


201 


flatter  the  great  northern  jockey  to  the  very  top  of  his  bent, 
swear  that  there  never  was  such  a horseman  as  he,  and 
never  such  a colt  as  Belisarius ; that  they  had  got  their 
very  shirts  on  him.  “ And  now,  Mr.  Smith,  wedl  just  have 
a glass  to  drink  luck  on  Wednesday.”  If  the  colt’s  other 
enemies  were  only  taking  like  steps  to  ensure  his  defeat, 
then,  thought  Furzedon,  with  a grim  smile,  “wherever 
Bill  Smith  may  finish  it  won’t  be  first,  unless  the  devil 
takes  care  of  his  own.^  And  then,  Miss  Lettie,  we’ll  see 
whether  you’re  too  proud  to  give  me  the  right  to  help  your 
brother  out  of  his  scrape.” 


XXVIII. — Dire  Misgivings. 

The  Derby  week  has  come  at  last.  The  leading 
competitors  for  the  great  race  all  got  safely  to 
Epsom,  and  the  papers  teem  with  reports  of  the  morn- 
ing gallops,  and  comment  freely  on  how  the  horses  do 
their  respective  work.  All  are  unanimous  in  praising  the 
favourite,  pronounced  to  have  improved  much  since  he 
won  the  Two  Thousand,  and  reported  as  having  galloped 
the  whole  course  in  rare  style  on  the  Monday  morning. 
Tattersall’s  is  in  a great  bustle  that  day.  Not  only  was 
there  all  the  business  of  comparing  to  be  got  through  ; and 
this  checking  off  of  their  various  debts  takes  some  little 
time  with  extensive  speculators  ; but  towards  the  finish 
there  was  some  rather  smart  wagering  on  the  coming 
event.  There  was  plenty  of  money  both  for  and  against 
Belisarius ; but,  as  Mr.  Black  had  said,  it  did  not  seem  to 
matter  how  much  money  the  public  heaped  upon  the  colt 
there  was  still  always  plenty  to  be  laid  against  him.  The 
stable  commission  had  been  long  ago  exhausted — it  was  a 
small  stable.  Mr.  William  Smith  was  a poor  man,  and  he 
and  his  friends  had  very  soon  succeeded  in  getting  all  the 
money  they  could  afford  on  at  highly  remunerative  prices. 
The  greater  part  of  their  commission  had  been  negotiated 
before  the  horse  had  made  his  successful  debut  at  New- 
market ; and,  though  they  had  not  hesitated — notably  Sir 


202 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Ronald — to  put  down  a considerable  portion  of  their  win- 
nings  in  support  of  the  colt’s  Epsom  chance,  yet  that 
soon  came  to  an  end,  and  it  was  the  public  now  who  were 
backing  Belisarius. 

Outside  the  subscription-room,  walking  up  and  down  in 
earnest  conference,  were  Furzedon  and  Dick  Kynaston. 

“ It’s  true.  Major.  I can  thoroughly  depend  upon  my 
man.  Those  fellows  who  got  the  hint  were  quite  right  to 
never  leave  Belisarius,  and  we  were  quite  right  to  follow 
their  lead.  Old  Bill  Smith  is  located  at  the  ‘ Red  Lion  ’ 
at  Epsom,  and  well  upon  the  drink.  If  the  secret  leaks 
out,  the  horse  will  be  at  double  his  present  price  before  the 
flag  drops.” 

“ They  can’t  get  anybody  else  to  ride,”  rejoined  the 
Major,  “ at  this  time  of  day.  And,  if  Bill  Smith  gets  up  in 
that  state,  it  will  be  all  the  odds  against  his  being  in  the 
first  three,  much  less  winning.  I suppose  there  is  not 
much  chance  of  his  pulling  himself  together  between  this 
and  then  ? ” 

“ No,”  replied  Furzedon,  glancing  sharply  around,  to  be 
sure  that  there  was  nobody  within  earshot.  “ My  infor- 
mant says  that  he  is  surrounded  by  a little  knot  who 
wouldn’t  give  him  the  chance, even  if  he  were  so  minded.” 

“ I can’t  think  what  his  friends  are  about,”  replied  Ky- 
naston, moodily.  Norman  Slade  and  RadclifFe  are  his 
two  chief  supporters,  and  there  are  no  two  keener  hands 
on  the  Turf.  They  know  Bill  Smith  better  than  any  of  us, 
and  Radcliffe  we  know,  at  all  events,  is  standing  to  win  a 
lot  of  money  over  it.  Are  you  sure  they  have  not  a second 
string  ? ” 

“ Such  a thing  has  never  been  hinted  at,”  replied  Furze- 
don ; “ besides,  my  good  fellow,  the  bill  of  the  play  is  out 
now.  We  know  what  every  one  rides — what  all  the  lead- 
ing jockeys  are  booked  for.  Of  course,  there  is  always  the 
stable-boy  ; but  we  know  what  a muddle  usually  makes 
of  it.” 

“ ril  tell  you  what  it  is,  Furzedon,”  said  the  Major. 
**  I’ve  seen  some  queer  dodges  take  place  at  the  last  moment. 
There  is  such  a thing,  remember,  as  a friendly  resignation 
of  claim  upon  a jockey’s  services.  I can’t  help  thinking 


DIRE  MISGIVINGS. 


203 


men  like  Slade  and  Radcliffe  would  be  prepared  for  such  a 
probable  contingency  as  Bill  Smith’s  inebriety.  If  the 
horse  looks  well,  and  I see  anybody  else  upon  it,  I shall 
take  back  the  money  I have  laid  against  him  at  the  last 
moment.” 

“ That  you  must  do  as  you  like  about,”  replied  his  com- 
panion, but  I’ve  done  here.  Are  you  going  westwards  ? 

“ Not  yet,”  replied  Kynaston. 

“ Then  for  the  present  adieu,”  said  Furzedon  ; and  as  he 
strolled  homewards  through  the  park  he  wondered  whether 
there  was  a chance  of  such  a trap  as  the  Major  hinted  at 
having  been  set  for  the  opponents  of  Belisarius. 

Trap  it  could  not  be  called.  If  Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe  or 
Slade  had  made  some  such  arrangement  with  another 
jockey,  they  were  only  doing  their  best  for  owner,  trainer, 
horse,  and  the  public. 

Charlie  Devereux,  incited  by  a lot  of  youthful  acquaint- 
ance at  Limmer’s,  to  which  hostelrie  Bertie  and  himself 
had  betaken  themselves  on  their  arrival  in  the  metropolis, 
had  backed  the  favourite  for  a good  deal  more  money.  He 
had  been  further  moved  to  do  this  by  Norman  Slade’s 
laconic  reply  to  Bertie’s  inquiry  as  to  how  Belisarius  was. 
“ Never  was  better”  had  been  his  uncle’s  rejoinder  ; but 
he  was  not  disposed  to  be  diffuse  on  the  subject,  and  Bertie 
knew  him  too  well  to  ask  further  questions. 

Charlie  Devereux  had  persuaded  himself  that  he  might 
as  well  be  hung  for  a sheep  as  a lamb,  and  therefore  it 
would  be  his  best  policy  to  thoroughly  clear  himself ; he 
would  go  for  the  gloves  ; in  fact,  he  ran  through  all  the 
gamut  of  such  phrases  applicable  to  the  situation.  If  it 
came  off  it  would  be  all  right ; if  it  did  not,  well  then  the 
smash  had  come , and  if  his  friends  would  not  rescue  him 
there  must  be  an  end  of  his  soldiering,  and  he  would  have 
to  strike  out  some  other  path  in  life.  He  had  said  nothing 
of  all  this  to  Bertie,  and  determined  that  he  should  be  left 
in  ignorance,  at  all  events  until  the  race  was  over ; and 
Bertie,  immersed  in  his  own  worries,  took  little  heed  of  the 
doings  of  his  mercurial  brother-officer. 

The  Derby  morning  broke  clear  and  bright.  The  sun 
was  barely  well  above  the  horizon  when  the  vast  horde  of 


204 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


pleasure-seekers  began  to  pour  out  of  London  on  their  way 
to  the  Downs.  There  were  those  who  came  to  gamble; 
those  who  came  for  an  outing  ; those  who  came  because  it 
was  the  proper  thing  to  do  ; those  who  came  because  other 
people  were  going ; those  who  came  because  they  always 
did  ; and  that  vast  crowd  who  yearly  travelled  down  on  the 
chance  of  picking  up  a little  money  during  the  week  in 
ways  of  which  even  themselves  have  as  yet  but  hazy  con- 
:eption.  Could  the  racing  public  have  looked  that  morn- 
mg,  about  breakfast-time,  into  the  private  sitting-room  of 
the  “ Red  Lion  ” at  Epsom  they  would  have  been  sore 
bewildered.  Seated  at  the  table  whereon  still  stood  the 
debris  of  breakfast  was  Sir  Ronald  Radcliffe ; whilst  pacing 
restlessly  up  and  down  the  room  was  Norman  Slade,  with 
that  glint  in  his  eyes  and  half  snarl  about  his  mouth  which 
^hose  who  knew  him  well  were  aware  presaged  bitter 
'umour  on  his  part. 

‘‘  Yes,*'  he  said,  in  evident  pursuance  of  their  conversa- 
tion, “ he  is  just  about  his  very  worst  humour  this  morning. 
He  can  be,  as  you  know,  as  obstinate  as  a pig ; and  there 
is  a certain  stage  he  arrives  at  when  he  is  in  this  way  when 
he  is  neither  to  drive  nor  to  lead,  and  that  is  just  where 
Bill  has  got  to  this  morning.  He  is  sulky  drunk,  and, 
whatever  we  want  him  to  do,  that  above  all  others  is  the 
thing  he  has  set  his  face  against.” 

What  sort  of  state  is  he  in  at  present  ? ” inquired  the 
Baronet.  ‘‘  I mean,  could  he  ride  now  ? ” 

“Yes,”  rejoined  Slade,  “that  is  the  provoking  thing 
about  it.  He  could ; but  you  don’t  suppose  he’ll  stay 
where  he  is.  Just  insinuate  to  him  that  he  had  better 
touch  nothing  till  the  race  is  over,  and  he’d  ring  for  more 

drink  that  minute.  Leave  him  to  himself ” 

“ And  he’ll  drink  all  the  same,”  chimed  in  the  Baronet. 
“ Yes  ; I know  my  friend  Bill,  and  when  he  is  fairly  off  on 
the  booze  it  would  take  chain-cables  to  hold  him.  Have 
you  ventured  to  suggest  that  Tom  Shaddock  should  ride  in 
his  place  ? ” 

“Not  yet;  I have  succeeded  in  managing  the  whole 
thing  capitally.  Abrahams,  who  owns  Hobbyhorse,  is 
quite  prepared  to  let  us  have  Shaddock,  providing  we  give 


DIRE  MISGIVINGS. 


205 


him  a thousand  if  Belisarius  wins  ; and  Shaddock  will  be 
quite  content  to,  in  like  manner,  stand  five  hundred  to 
nothing 

“ Shaddock  is  as  good  as  most  of  them,”  replied  the 
Baronet.  “ Can’t  Bill  be  brought  to  accede  to  that  ar- 
rangement ? ” 

“ We  shall  have  to  try,*’  said  Slade,  “ but  in  his  present 
temper  I am  afraid  not ; besides,  you  know  what  he  is. 
He  looks  upon  himself  as  seven  pounds  better  than  any  one 
else.  They  are  all  given  to  it ; but  there  never  was  a jockey 
more  conceited  about  his  own  riding  than  Bill  Smith.” 

“ Then,”  said  Sir  Ronald,  “ there  is  only  one  thing  to  be 
done ; we  shall  have  to  tie  him  up  to  the  bedpost,  and  lock 
him  in  his  room.” 

Norman  Slade  gave  vent  to  a grim  laugh  as  he  replied, 
“ I wish  we  could  ; and,  by  Jove,  we  would,  if  he  was  only 
a trainer  and  jockey  ; but  unfortunately,  you  see,  he  owns 
the  horse,  and  there’s  no  gainsaying  that  he  has  a right  to 
do  what  he  likes  with  his  own.  He’s  just  in  that  beastly 
temper  in  which  he  would  say  that  he  only  kept  racers  for 
the  sport  of  the  thing ; and  that  if  he  couldn’t  ride  them 
himself  he  didn’t  care  to  start  them.  If  his  colt  got  beat 
there’d  be  a pretty  row.  He  and  all  the  public  with  him 
would  say  that  it  was  all  our  fault — that  if  Bill  himself  had 
been  up  he  would  have  won  easily.” 

“You’re  right,”  said  Sir  Ronald,  moodily;  “ I suppose 
there  would  be  a royal  row ; and  yet,  hang  it.  I’ve  half  a 
mind  to  chance  it — it’s  not  often  one  has  the  chance  of 
such  a cowp  as  this.” 

“ Yes,”  retorted  Slade,  “ and  I’m  sorry  for  the  fool  him- 
self ; he  stands  to  win  a rare  nice  stake,  and  he  wants  it ; 
he  is  never  likely  to  get  much  more  riding.  He  is  not 
likely,  in  his  small  way,  to  pick  up  such  another  colt  as 
Belisarius.  To  fool  away  this  chance  will  be  the  throwing 
away,  probably,  of  his  last.” 

“ Well,  we’ve  got  the  morning  before  us,”  said  Sir 
Ronald,  “ and  I can  only  hope  that  he  will  listen  to  reason. 
In  the  meantime,  I shall  stroll  into  the  town  and  see  what’s 
doing.  It  was  an  awful  bit  of  bad  luck  that  I couldn’t  take 
your  place  at  Bellaton  Moor,” 


206 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Left  to  himself,  Norman  Slade  pondered  deeply  over 
the  situation.  He  could  see  no  way  out  of  it.  He  knew 
his  man  far  too  well  to  suppose  Bill  Smith’s  sobriety  would 
improve  as  the  day  wore  on,  nor  was  there  the  slightest 
chance  of  his  getting  quite  hors  de  combat.  He  never  did 
that ; then  again,  the  combined  vanity  and  obstinacy  ol 
the  jockey  made  it  more  improbable  that  he  would  ever 
consent  to  Tom  Shaddock’s  taking  his  place.  Norman 
had  considered  himself  extremely  fortunate  in  having  coru 
eluded  that  negotiation  successfully.  Shaddock  was  a fine 
horseman,  and  quite  capable  of  doing  the  colt  every  justice: 
but  in  his  exultation  he  had  quite  overlooked  the  vanity  o/ 
human  nature  and  the  infirmity  of  human  temper.  The 
jockey  had  not  as  yet  left  his  room,  and  there  was  no  use 
as  yet,  as  Slade  well  knew,  in  arguing  further  with  him. 
He  strolled  out  into  the  town,  and  again  saw  Shaddock 
and  Shaddock’s  employer.  Both  professed  themselves 
perfectly  willing  to  stand  to  the  agreement  to  the  very  last 
available  moment. 

Let  me  know  half-an-hour  before  the  numbers  go  up, 
and  it  will  be  all  right,  sir.  My  horse  won’t  start,  and 
Tom  Jiere  very  much  at  your  service.” 

By  this  time  the  secret  of  Bill  Smith’s  indiscretions  had 
begun  to  leak  out  amongst  those  sporting  men  who  had 
elected  Epsom  for  their  headquarters.  That  the  delin- 
quent was  a small,  spare,  wiry  man,  as  they  well  knew, 
made  it  probable  that  he  would  be  able  to  ride  the  weight. 
But  a jockey  who  got  up  to  ride  in  a big  race  rather  the 
worse  for  drink  was  no  more  to  be  relied  on  than  in  any 
other  calling  in  life ; and  there  was  a manifest  tendency 
to  bet  against  Belisarius  in  consequence.  Slade  strolled 
up  to  the  course  ; and,  though  the  day  was  still  young,  the 
early  contingents  from  London  were  already  sprinkled 
about  the  betting-lawn.  A very  enjoyable  time  this : you 
have  a chance  of  seeing  old  friends,  of  hearing  the  latest 
movements  in  the  betting-market.  Later  on  the  crowd 
thickens,  and  the  coming  across  any  one  becomes  a mere 
toss-up.  If  it  is  anybody  you  particularly  want  to  see  the 
chances  against  that  meeting  taking  place  seem  incalcula- 
bly multiplied.  In  that  stroll  Norman  encountered  his 


DIRE  MISGIVINGS. 


ao7 


nephew ; and  to  Bertie’s  inquiry  as  to  whether  he  fancied 
Belisarius,  replied  curtly,  “ No;  the  horse  is  all  right,  but 
the  man’s  all  wrong.  Hedge,  my  boy,  especially  if  you 
stand  to  lose  anything  to  make  you  feel  uncomfortable ; ” 
and  then  Norman  jumped  into  his  fly  and  drove  back  again 
to  Epsom,  to  look  after  the  recreant  jockey. 

Bill  Smith  was  having  a nondescript  meal,  which  con- 
sisted of  a sandwich  and  a tankard  of  bitter  beer,  and  was 
surrounded  by  three  or  four  blatant  flatterers,  who  had 
apparently  breakfasted  more  largely  in  similar  fashion. 

“ That’s  what  I say,  Mr.  Smith,”  exclaimed  one  of  these 
worthies,  “ when  you  come  across  a good  horse,  with  a 
good  man  on  the  top  of  him,  back  him.  That’s  where  it  is, 
I say ; here's  the  best  colt  in  England,  and  the  best  man 
in  England  a-goin’  to  ride  him ; it’s  good  enough  to  go 
your  shirt  on,  that’s  what  it  is  ; and  I’ve  gone  it.” 

It  was  possible  that  he  had ; at  all  events  there  was  not 
much  appearance  of  his  having  it  on. 

Norman  Slade  pushed  his  way  through  the  raffish  crew, 
and  clutching  the  jockey  by  the  arm,  exclaimed  sternly, 
‘‘  Come  here.  Bill,  no  nonsense,  I want  to  speak  to  you.” 
And  without  more  ado  he  led  Smith  into  his  own  bedroom. 
“Now,”  he  continued,  “you’ve  just  thrown  the  Derby 
away.  Sir  Ronald  and  I,  as  well  as  yourself,  have  backed 
Belisarius  to  win  us  a hatful  of  money.  The  colt  is  fit  to  run 
for  a kingdom,  andyoz^ — do  you  call  yourself  fit  to  ride  him  ? ” 
“Yes,  I do,  Mr.  Slade,”  replied  Bill  Smith,  doggedly; 
“ it’s  all  very  well,  living  on  tea  and  toast,  and  going  long 
walks  muffled  up  in  flannels  when  you’re  a fleshy  man — 
ain’t.  Don’t  you  be  afraid.  I’ll  weigh  in  all  right — don’t 
you  be  afraid  I’m  over  weight.” 

“I’m  not  a bit  afraid  of  that,”  said  Norman  sharply; 
“ what  I fear  is,  that  you  won’t  know  where  the  winning- 
post  is.  You’ve  been  drinking  for  the  last  three  days,  and 
you’ve  got  the  ‘ sun  in  your  eyes  ’ this  morning.” 

“ Don’t  talk  nonsense,  Mr.  Slade,”  rejoined  the  jockey. 
“ I’m  just  as  fit  to  ride  as  I ever  was?  in  my  life.” 

“ Well,  never  mind  that,”  replied  Slade,  “ Sir  Ronald 
and  I don’t  think  you  quite  your  old  self.  We  want  you 
to  hand  youi  mount  over  to  — • 


20S 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


‘‘What ! not  ride  my  own  horse/’  interrupted  Bill.  “ It*s 

like  your  d d cheek ; and  who,  pray,  are  you  proposing 

to  put  up  in  my  place  ? ” 

“Well,”  rejoined  Slade,  “I’ve  been  lucky  enough  to 
secure  Tom  Shaddock.” 

“ What,  Shaddock  ride  alongside  me,”  cried  the  now 
thoroughly  exasperated  jockey ; “ why,  I could  give  him 
seven  pounds  anywhere,  and  I should  think  about  ten 
here.  No,  Mr.  Slade,  you  and  your  Shaddocks  may  go 

to ,”  and  he  named  a place  not  usually  mentioned  in 

polite  circles,  and  strolled  angrily  out  of  the  room. 

“ That’s  the  upsetting  of  the  cockboat — our  last  chance,” 
muttered  Slade.  “ I have  only  made  things  a bit  worse. 
I know  his  beastly  braggadocio  temper  ; he’ll  think  it 
incumbent  on  him  to  take  two  or  three  strong  drinks 
between  this  and  the  saddling-bell,  and,  unless  we  can 
persuade  him  when  he  has  got  well  round  Tattenham 
Corner  to  come  right  away,  he’s  certain  to  make  a muddle 
of  it  at  the  finish.  Hard  luck  ! ” concluded  Norman,  “ it’s 
rarely  men  have  a chance  to  stand  to  win  so  much  money 
as  we  do  this  time,  and  if  that  fool  could  only  have  kept 
sober  until  it  was  over  I verily  believe  it  would  have  been 
landed.” 


XXIX. — The  Great  Epsom  Race. 

JUMPING  once  more  into  his  fly,  Slade  ordered  the  man 
to  drive  at  once  to  the  paddock,  where,  as  arranged, 
he  was  to  meet  Mr.  Abrahams,  Tom  Shaddock,  and 
Sir  Ronald.  Dismissing  his  fly  for  the  present,  Norman 
made  his  way  into  the  inclosure. 

“ Well,  Mr.  Slade  ! ” exclaimed  the  Israelite,  “ you  have 
come  to  say  it’s  all  right,  and  that  Tom,  here,  is  to  ride 
Belisarius  ; you  don’t  want  anything  more  than  the  market 
there,”  and  he  jerked  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the 
betting-ring,  “to  tell  you  that  Bill  Smith’s  got  a pretty 
bad  headache  this  morning ; ” and  Mr.  Abrahams  favoured 
Norman  with  a most  expressive  wink  “I’ve  got  a few 


THE  GREAT  EPSOM  RACK 


209 


pounds  on  my  own  ; but,  bless  yer,  I’d  a deal  rather  stand 
in  with  you.” 

“ You  must  do  the  best  you  can  with  Reflector,  I shan’t 
want  your  services  to-day,  Tom,”  said  Norman,  grimly. 

“ But  s’help  me,  Mr.  Slade,”  exclaimed  Abrahams, 
‘‘  why  it’s  all  over  the  ring ; they  say  Bill  Smith  has  been 
drunk  ever  since  he’s  been  here,  and  that  it  will  take  him 
about  a month  to  get  sober  now.” 

‘‘  Well,  never  mind  what  they  say,  Mr.  Abrahams,  Bill 
Smith  will  ride  Belisarius  to-day,  that’s  enough  for  you  to 
know.” 

“No  go,  I see,”  said  Sir  Rt>nald,  joining  Slade  as  he 
walked  away ; “ can’t  do  anything  with  him,  I suppose  ? ” 
“ No,”  rejoined  Norman,  “ I always  knew  it  would  be  a 
delicate  point.  You  see  it  is  touching  a man  on  the  point 
of  his  vanity ; and  the  suggestion  that  Tom  Shaddock 
could  fill  his  place  simply  drove  him  wild.” 

“ It’s  an  awful  sell,”  replied  the  Baronet,  “ such  a good 
stake  we  stand  on  it,  and,  by  Jove,  old  man,  I really  want 
it.”  And  then  the  pair  strolled  off  to  have  a look  at 
Belisarius. 

The  colt  was  pacing  up  and  down  at  the  bottom  end  of 
the  paddock,  looking  cool  and  collected,  and  quite  prepared 
to  take  his  part  in  the  struggle  that  lay  before  him.  The 
time  was  getting  on,  and  already  the  saddling-bell  for  the 
great  race  clanged  out  upon  the  ear.  There  were  a crowd 
of  people  gathered  around  Belisarius  and  scanning  all  his 
points.  Another  ten  minutes,  and  a little  man  in  a light 
overcoat  pushes  his  way  somewhat  rudely  through  the 
throng.  They  make  way  for  him,  for  the  silken  cap  in  the 
well-known  colours  tells  them  that  it  is  the  colt’s  jockey 
and  owner,  with  a face  flushed  with  drink.  Bill  Smith 
sullenly  superintended  the  saddling  of  his  horse ; another 
minute  or  two  and  he  casts  off  his  overcoat  and  is  promptly 
thrown  into  the  saddle.  As  he  moves  off  with  his  horse 
Slade  walks  alongside  of  him  and  says  : 

“Trust  to  the  condition  you’ve  got  under  you,  Bill. 
The  colt  can’t  be  fitter ; don’t  wait  too  long,  but  come 
right  away,  and  stand  no  humbugging.” 

“ All  right,  Mr,  Slade,”  growled  the  jockey,  sulkily,  “ I’lj 


210 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


come  to  you  for  a few  riding-lessons  when  Tve  got  this 
gallop  over.” 

“ Pig-headed  brute  1 ” exclaimed  Sir  Ronald,  “ neither 
you  nor  any  one  else  can  do  anything  with  him  to-day. 
He  must  ‘ gang  his  ain  gait,*  as  they  say  the  other  side  of 
the  Border.” 

As  Bill  Smith  walked  his  horse  past  the  drinking-booth 
that  stood  near  the  entrance  to  the  paddock,  a small  lot  of 
well-dressed  men  issued  from  it.  They  had  all  glasses  in 
their  hands,  and  two  of  them  bore  bottles. 

“ Here’s  your  health,  Bill ! ” exclaimed  one  of  them. 
‘‘  Bill  Smith  and  Belisarius  ! ” chorused  the  others.  “ The 
best  man  on  the  best  horse  in  England ; we’ll  drink  his 
health,  and  good  luck  to  him,” 

“ Here  you  are,  Bill,”  exclaimed  the  first  speaker,  filling 
a glass  out  of  a champagne  bottle,  “just  a glass  of  fizz  for 
luck,  Bill,”  and  he  handed  a brimming  goblet  up  to  Smith, 
who,  bending  over  his  saddle,  took  it,  and  sang  out,  “ All 
right,  lads,  you’ll  see  what  a mess  I’ll  make  of  ’em  after  we 
get  round  Tattenham  Corner  ! ” and,  tossing  off  the  liquor, 
he  threw  the  glass  back  to  the  man  who  had  handed  it  to 
him. 

If  at  first  sight  it  seems  odd  that  nobody  interfered  to 
prevent  this  tampering  with  the  jockey  on  his  way  to  the 
post,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Bill  Smith  stood  in  the 
singular  position  of  being  owner,  trainer,  and  jockey.  How- 
ever, even  as  it  was,  there  was  an  attempt  to  stop  it. 
Norman  Slade  and  Sir  Ronald,  following  in  the  rear  of  the 
horse,  caught  sight  of  this  little  crowd,  and,  at  the  last 
moment,  grasped  their  design.  They  both  rushed  forward 
to  interfere,  but  it  was  too  late ; the  cup  was  drained  and 
tossed  back  to  its  giver  before  Slade  could  intercept  it. 
Bui  he  turned  quick  as  lightning  upon  the  donor,  and  said, 
“ I want  your  name,  sir ; this  looks  to  me  very  like  an 
attempt  to  hocus  the  jockey  of  the  favourite.” 

“ My  name  ! ” replied  the  other,  “ what  the  deuce  have 
you  got  to  do  with  my  name,  and  who  are  you  to  dare  to 
find  fault  with  my  giving  a glass  of  wine  to  a gentleman 
riding  his  own  horse  ? ” 

But  Norman  Slade  had  not  lived  all  bis  life  about  town 


THE  GREAT  EPSOM  RACR 


in  the  da3TS  when  pugilism  was  patronised  by  the  greatest 
in  the  land,  without  having  learnt  to  use  his  hands.  Ha 
advanced  determinedly  on  his  foe,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so, 
“ Quick,  Radcliffe,  call  the  police ; 111  keep  this  gentleman 
employed  till  they  come.” 

But  these  two  things  produced  a decided  change  in  the 
blustering  demeanour  of  the  dark,  florid-looking  gentleman 
who  still  held  the  bottle  of  champagne  in  his  hand.  He 
knew  Sir  Ronald  Radclifle  was  well-known  amongst  all 
leading  gentlemen  of  the  turf.  He  knew  also  that  the 
, interference  of  the  police  would  at  once  create  a great 
public  scandal,  and  that  was  the  last  thing  Ralph  Furzedon 
I desired.  Suddenly  changing  his  manner,  he  exclaimed — 
I “You  have  thought  proper  to  accuse  me  of  hocussing  a 
'jockey.  Will  you  have  a glass  of  champagne?  Get  a 
I couple  of  clean  glasses  there,  one  of  you.” 

I “ Yes,”  said  Norman,  quickly,  “ I will,  and  a full  one.  I 
shall  know  then  what  it  is  you  have  put  down  Bill  Smith’s 
throat.” 

“ Quite  right,”  replied  the  other,  with  a mocking  smile ; 
“ ah ! here  come  the  glasses.”  And  from  the  self-same 
bottle  he  proceeded  to  fill  them  to  the  very  brim.  Handing 
one  to  Norman,  he  took  the  other  himself,  and  said — 

“Now,  sir^  we  will  drink  to  the  success  of  Belisarius,” 
and  with  a low  bow  he  drained  his  glass  to  the  dregs,  as 
also  did  Slade. 

“ Well,  sir,”  he  continued,  “ I hope  you  found  the  wine 
to  your  liking  ? ” 

“ Far  from  it,”  rejoined  Slade,  “ race-course  champagne, 
and  bad  at  that,  but  I withdraw  my  accusation.  Good- 
day,  sir.”  “ Come  and  see  it,  Radcliffe,”  he  continued, 
taking  the  Baronet’s  arm,  “ I can  swear  he  never  changed 
the  bottle,  for  I never  took  my  eye  off  him.  I believe  it  to 
be  only  what  I said ; but  at  all  events,”  he  concluded, 
laughing,  “ I shall  know  in  less  than  half  an  hour.” 

They  walked  up  the  course  until  they  arrived  at  the 
Grand  Stand,  and,  looking  into  the  betting-lawn  for  a few 
moments,  found  that  a reaction  had  set  in  in  favour  of 
Belisarius.  The  colt  had  gone  badly  in  the  market  during 
the  nioirmng,  but  when  he  can;e  out,  looking  fine  as  a star, 


212 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


and  with  the  redoubtable  Bill  Smith  on  his  back,  there 
was  a rush  to  back  him,  both  on  the  part  of  the  public  and 
on  those  who,  thinking  that  he  would  have  a very  inferior 
jockey  on  his  back,  had  laid  against  him.  Drunk  or  sober. 
Bill  Smith  was  equally  at  home  in  the  saddle,  and,  as  he 
gripped  his  horse  and  brought  him  rattling  down  the 
course,  sitting  straight  and  square  in  his  saddle,  few  would 
have  dreamt  that  the  drink  was  already  seething  in  that 
resolute  horseman’s  brain.  That  canter  past  the  Stand 
done  with,  the  lot  proceed  quietly  across  towards  the 
starting-post,  and  here  at  once  Bill  Smith’s  irritable 
temper  begins  to  show  itself.  There  is  always  some  little 
manoeuvring  for  places  on  these  occasions — some  of  the 
most  eminent  jockeys  are  notably  whimsical  upon  this 
point,  and  Bill  Smith  was  one  of  these.  It  was  an  axiom 
of  his  to  have  the  inside  from  the  beginning,  if  he  could 
compass  it,  and  he  would  dodge  and  make  unscrupulous 
use  of  his  well-garnished  vocabulary  to  attain  this  end  ; 
and  more  than  one  of  his  fellow-jockeys  would  yield  the 
point  sooner  than  encounter  the  lash  of  Bill  Smith’s  scur- 
rilous tongue.  He  was  worse  than  usual  on  this  occasion, 
and,  inflamed  by  drink,  ventured  to  favour  the  starter  with 
some  of  his  choice  observations.  He  was  too  preoccupied 
in  railing  at  those  around  him  to  attend  strictly  to  the 
business  in  hand,  and,  when  that  functionary,  by  no  means 
prepossessed  in  his.  Bill  Smith’s  favour,  suddenly  dropped 
his  flag,  instead  of  making  the  best  use  of  his  opportunity, 
the  be-mused  jockey  hesitated,  not  quite  believing  it  was 
an  actual  start.  Even  when  he  awoke  to  the  fact  he  still 
further  complicated  matters  by  waiting  to  hurl  a torrent  of 
abuse  at  the  starter  before  setting  his  horse  going. 

“ They’re  off,”  roared  the  crowd.  “ Pooh  ! nonsense  ! 
False  start!”  was  the  cry  immediately  afterwards, 
succeeded  quickly  by  the  shout,  “ It’s  a go,  by  heaven  I 
and  the  favourite’s  left  at  the  post.”  Yes,  there,  true 
enough,  were  the  horses  sweeping  up  the  hill  in  a cluster, 
and  the  favourite  at  least  a hundred  yards  in  their  rear. 

‘‘  It’s  all  over,  Norman  1 ” exclaimed  the  Baronet,  as  he 
wearily  dropped  his  glasses;  “ and  the  best  thing  we’ve  been 
ip  for  many  a day  is  chucked  away  by  a drunken  fool*’* 


THE  GREAT  EPSOM  RACE. 


2ti 


Norman  Slade  made  no  reply,  he  was  busied  straining 
his  eyes  to  catch  sight  of  the  horses,  and  even  as  they 
went  through  “the  furzes  ” he  fancied  that  Belisarius  had 
made  up  a little  of  his  ground.  Then  the  lot  were  all  out 
of  sight,  and  when  next  he  caught  sight  of  them,  the  dark 
bluejacket  and  scarlet  cap  of  Bill  Smith  were  still  toiling 
far  in  the  rear.  As  they  came  down  the  hill  it  was  evident 
that  the  Bellaton  horse  had  closed  the  portentous  gap  that 
separated  him  from  his  field  considerably.  Then  they 
came  round  Tattenham  Corner,  and  if  ever  a jockey  shaved 
the  rails  there  it  was  Bill  Smith  upon  this  occasion. 
Muddled  though  he  was,  he  knew  he  was  so  far  behind 
them  that  he  could  not  afford  to  throw  away  an  inch  of 
ground,  and  a bit  of  his  old  skill  was  exhibited  in  the  way 
he  crept  up  to  his  horses.  But  it  was  a long  gap  to  make 
up,  and  the  old  patience  and  coolness  began  to  fail  him. 
Half  way  up  the  straight  he  began  to  get  nervous  at  the 
distance  he  was  still  behind  ; if  the  race  was  to  be  won  at 
all  it  could  only  be  done  inch  by  inch,  with  one  determined 
rush  on  the  very  post.  Bill  Smith  began  to  bustle  his 
horse,  and  Belisarius,  who  had  been  engaged  in  a weary 
stern-chase  from  the  commencement,  soon  showed  signs 
that  the  struggle  had  told  upon  him.  The  fierce  excite- 
ment of  the  gallop,  the  nervous  anxiety  to  win  such  a 
valuable  stake  for  himself  and  friends,  were  too  much  for 
Bill  Smith,  on  the  top  of  the  drink  that  he  had  consumed 
before  starting ; he  lost  his  head,  and  instead  of  waiting 
till  the  last  moment  with  that  consummate  coolness  which 
had  often  electrified  the  Southerners,  and  brought  many  a 
roar  from  Yorkshire  throats  on  Doncaster  Moor,  he  sat 
down  just  before  reaching  the  Stand,  and  commenced 
riding  his  horse  in  earnest.  Gamely  did  Belisarius  respond 
to  the  call,  and  the  colt’s  final  flash  was  brilliant  in  the 
extreme.  For  one  second  he  threatened  to  overhaul  the 
leaders,  and  a cry  went  up,  “ The  favourite  wins ! The 
favourite  wins  ! ” but  in  the  next  half-dozen  strides  his  bolt 
was  shot,  he  died  away  to  nothing;  and  when  the  numbers 
went  up  Belisarius  was  not  amongst  the  first  three. 

The  race  is  over,  and  Harold  by  The  Confessor,  out  of 
Dauntless,  is  hailed  the  winner  of  the  Derby  of  i8— . 


SADDLB  AND  SABRB. 


St4 

Norman  Slade  greeted  the  hoisting  of  the  victor’s  number 
with  a “ splendid  groan,”  like  unto  that  with  which  Mr. 
Disraeli  tells  us  Lord  George  Bentinck  received  the  news 
of  Surplice’s  triumph.  As  for  Sir  Ronald  he  said  nothing 
aloud  ; he  was  a ‘good  loser,  and  it  was  seldom  the  way 
the  battle  went  could  be  traced  in  his  calm,  passionless 
features ; but  upon  this  occasion  I think  there  was  a 
muttered  imprecation  against  Bill  Smith,  and  a resolution 
to  depend  upon  that  unstable  reed  no  more.  As  for  that 
worthy  he  was  half  mad  with  rage  and  disappointment ; 
his  language  in  the  weighing-room  was  what  Bret  Harte 
describes  as — ‘‘  Frequent  and  painful  and  free.” 

He  poured  forth  a torrent  of  abuse  on  the  starter,  he 
vowed  it  was  no  race,  he  objected  to  everything  in  the  et 
cetera,  cetera  race,  he  wanted  to  lodge  an  objection,  he 
wanted  to  appeal  to  the  stewards,  and  it  wasn’t  until  he 
had  received  a peremptory  intimation  that,  if  he  didn’t 
quit  the  weighing-room  without  more  words  the  authorities 
would  be  compelled  to  have  him  removed,  the  discomfited 
jockey  could  be  induced  to  retire.  As  far  as  the  general 
public  goes  their  sympathies  were  with  Bill  Smith ; they 
did  not  know  how  it  happened,  but  they  did  understand 
that  he  had  somehow  been  left  behind,  and  were  very 
much  inclined,  like  Bill  Smith  himself,  to  lay  the  blame 
upon  the  starter.  But  the  regular  racing-men  knew  better  ; 
they  knew  very  well  whose  fault  it  was,  and  that  the 
famous  jockey  of  the  North  had  no  one  to  blame  but 
himself. 

However,  it  is  little  use  to  argue  upon  how  the  milk  was 
spilt,  upon  how  it  all  happened  on  this  occasion.  The  fiat 
of  the  judge  has  gone  forth,  and  is  irrevocable.  Some 
rumours  there  were  of  an  **  objection  ” in  the  first  few 
minutes  after  the  race,  the  consequence  these  of  Bill  Smith’s 
wild  ravings.  But  such  report  met  with  but  little  credence 
to  begin  with,  and  was  speedily  contradicted.  On  the  top 
of  the  drag  opposite  the  Grand  Stand,  with  some  half-a- 
dozen  other  men  consoling  themselves  for  their  disappoint- 
ment with  a capital  lunch,  was  Charlie  Devereux. 

“ Rather  a facer,  old  man,”  remarked  one  of  his  com- 
panions. “ They’ve  got  me  for  four  hundred.  I thought 


RAISING  THE  WIND.  215 

Belisarius  couldn’t  lose ; but  he  got  such  an  awful  bad 
start.” 

“ I don’t  know  how  it  happened,”  replied  Charlie.  “ But 
I feel  quite  sure  that  he  had  no  business  to  be  left  behind 
like  that.” 

“ The  starter  ought  to  be  had  up  before  the  stewards,” 
said  another.  If  he  had  only  got  off  he  must  have  won. 
Look  at  the  ground  he  made  up  towards  the  finish.” 

“ Struck  me,”  rejoined  Charlie,  that  he  was  in  rather 
too  great  a hurry  to  get  home.  If  he’d  had  a little  more 
patience  he  must  have  been  very  near  winning.  The 
horse  ran  game  as  a bull-dog ; but  I know  what  that  follow- 
my-leader  game  is.  I was  taught  the  lesson  the  first  time 
I rode  in  public,  and  just  as  I caught  my  horses  found  I 
had  come  to  the  end  of  my  own.” 

“ Yes,”  replied  one  of  his  companions.  “ It  stands  to 
reason  that  after  making  up  all  that  leeway  there  can  be 
but  a very  brief  flash  left  in  your  horse  when  you  call  upon 
him  for  his  supreme  effort.” 

Charlie  nodded  assent ; but  the  discussion  was  idle  ; the 
one  fact  remained  that  he  had  lost  a lot  of  money,  and 
that  it  had  to  be  paid  by  the  following  Monday, 


XXX. — Raising  the  Wind. 

IN  one  of  Disraeli’s  earlier  novels  he  tells  us  of  a certain 
marquis  and  his  spouse,  who,  finding  themselves  incon- 
venienced by  the  simple  process  of  spending  two  years’ 
income  in  one,  determined  to  economise,  and,  abandoning 
the  delights  of  London,  betake  themselves  to  the  country 
with  a view  to  that  laudable  sacrifice.  But  as  they  con- 
sider that  the  mere  fact  of  such  retirement  of  itself  consti- 
tutes economy,  and  that  the  country  is  unendurable 
without  a fashionable  mob  to  inhabit  their  country-seat, 
which  distinguished  mob  must  be  regaled  upon  all  the  best 
there  is  to  eat  and  drink  in  the  land,  they  awake  to  the  fact 
that  their  scheme  of  retrenchment  is  a failure,  and,  as  the 


2i6 


saddle  and  SABRfi, 


marchioness  sweetly  observes,  “henceforth  expense  isnd 
object.”  In  like  manner  men  in  their  early  gambling 
scrapes  are  always  apt  to  think  that  a little  more  makes  no 
difference.  Charlie  Devereux’s  “ plunge  ” upon  Belisarjus 
has  been  already  rather  upon  the  double  or  quits  principle. 
And  that  he  should  feel  it  incumbent  to  back  Maritana  for 
the  Oaks,  with  a view  to  recovering  his  Derby  losses,  was 
strictly  in  accord  with  all  race-going  experience  ; and  that 
Maritana  should  occupy  the  same  ignoble  position,  namely, 
that  of  unplaced,  at  the  termination  of  that  classic  contest, 
was  only  the  customary  result  of  such  attempt  to  retrieve 
his  losses.  Charlie  felt  a little  sick  when  he  saw  Maritana 
collapse  hopelessly  just  before  the  real  bitter  finish  began  ; 
and  as  he  travelled  back  to  town  pondered  gloomily  as  to 
where  he  was  to  obtain  the  necessary  funds  with  which  to 
settle  his  accounts  on  the  Monday. 

Now,  to  obtain  a considerable  sum  of  money  at  such 
short  notice  as  is  given,  from  Friday  night  to  Monday 
afternoon,  there  is  no  reliance  to  be  placed  upon  any  but 
the  children  of  Israel.  A large  sum  of  money  is,  of  course, 
to  be  regarded  with  due  respect  as  to  your  position  and 
securities ; but,  given  these  both  unimpeachable,  it  is  » 
usually  to  the  money-lender  that  you  must  go  to  obtain  it 
in  time.  The  terms  naturally  vary  in  accordance  with  the 
risk  to  be  run.  To  a man  with  undoubted  tangible  pro- 
perty, who  only  requires  a few  weeks  to  raise  the  necessary 
sum,  his  charges  will  be  comparatively  lenient ; but  in  the 
case  of  a customer  like  Charlie  he  will  undoubtedly  demand 
to  be  paid  in  proportion  to  the  risk.  Charlie’s  experience 
of  London  usurers  was  happily  limited ; it  would  have 
been  better  for  him  had  it  been  still  more  limited ; but 
with  no  little  perturbation  on  Saturday  morning  he  jumped 
into  a cab,  and  drove  down  to  the  offices  of  Messrs.  Jor- 
dan & Co.,  finance  agents,  whose  business  premises  were 
in  Northumberland  Street,  Strand.  There  he  saw  the 
representative  of  that  shadowy  firm,  and  who,  knowing  his 
master’s  views  with  regard  to  Mr.  Charles  Devereux’s 
paper,  informed  him  that  he  thought  it  was  possible  it 
might  be  done ; that  money  was  scarce,  and  he  would 
have  to  pay  high  for  it ; but  that  he  could  say  nothing 


RAISINCi  THE  WIND. 


Positively  until  he  had  consulted  his  partnet  from  the  city, 
if  Mr.  Devereux  would  call  upon  him  between  eleven  and 
twelve  on  Monday  morning  he  would  be  able  to  give  him 
a definite  answer.  And  in  the  event  of  their  being  able  to 
accommodate  him  at  all  the  money  should  be  handed 
over  to  him  then  and  there.  And  with  such  comfort 
Charlie  betook  himself  back  to  Limmer’s,  and  bethought 
himself  what  an  egregious  fool  he  was,  and  what  a pre- 
cious tale  it  was  now  ii^cumbent  upon  him  to  unfold  to 
his  father. 

He  had  seen  but  little  of  Bertie  Slade  since  their  arrival 
in  London  ; they  were  both  staying  at  Limmer’s,  but, 
whereas  Charlie  pretty  well  lived  there,  Gilbert  only  slept 
there.  Gilbert  naturally  lunched,  dined,  etc.,  at  the  Ther- 
mopolium,  but  Charlie  as  yet  had  not  obtained  entrance  to 
one  of  those  exclusionary  palaces.  It  was,  perhaps,  this  that 
had  lured  him  to  his  undoing.  His  associates  at  Limmer’s 
were  all  young  gentlemen  similarly  situated  to  himself, 
whom  he  had  known  in  the  first  place  at  the  University, 
and  who  had  now  joined  Her  Majesty’s  service.  It  was  a 
fastish  hotel  in  those  days.  I am  talking  of  the  old  house, 
5ind  before  carpets  desecrated  the  sanded  floor  of  the 
famous  coffee-room — scene  of  so  many  mad-cap  revels,  of 
such  wild  betting,  and  in  which  so  many  prize-fights  had 
been  arranged  and  eccentric  matches  concocted.  Not  a 
very  good  academy  for  a young  gentleman  to  commence 
his  studies  of  life  in  London.  He  had  not  as  yet  confided 
the  extent  of  his  losses  at  Epsom  to  any  one.  Although 
he  had  seen  Mrs.  Kynaston  on  the  Thursday  afternoon, 
and  she  had  condoled  with  him  sweetly  on  his  ill-luck,  yet 
he  had  not  even  confessed  to  her  that  things  were  still 
worse  than  she  knew  of.  He  had  telegraphed  to  his 
colonel  for  a couple  more  days’  leave,  to  enable  him  to 
confer  with  Jordan  & Co.  upon  the  Monday,  and  received 
a favourable  reply  to  his  request.  Very  much  astounded 
was  Bertie  Slade  when  he  discovered  that  afternoon  that 
Charlie  was  not  to  be  his  travelling  companion. 

“ No  ; I wired  to  the  chief  for  two  days’  more  leave,  and 
have  got  it.  The  fact  is,  old  man,  I’m  in  a deuce  of  a 
scrape,  much  worse  than  you  know  of.” 


2i8 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


“ I see,**  interrupted  Bertie,  hastily,  you  were  fool 
enough  to  pile  a lot  more  money  on  Belisarius.** 

“ Just  so,”  replied  Devereux,  “ and  I’ve  had  to  go  where 
I did  before  to  find  the  money  to  settle  with.  There’s  no 
doubt  about  it  now,  I shall  have  to  tell  the  story  at  North 
Leach.” 

“I  am  afraid  so,**  said  Slade;  “the  sooner  the  better, 
but  it’s  time  I was  off.  I suppose  we  shall  see  you  down 
on  Monday  night,”  and  with  a nod  of  adieu  Bertie  Slade 
took  his  departure.  He  had  had  a most  unsatisfactory 
week.  I don’t  mean  in  the  way  of  racing,  for  he  had  lost 
but  very  little  money,  and  cared  less  about  it.  His  main 
object  in  London  had  been  to  see  Lettice,  and  in  that  he 
had  been  grievously  disappointed.  He  had  called  twice, 
and  upon  both  occasions  found  neither  Miss  Devereux  nor 
Mrs.  Connop  at  home.  He  had  been  more  fortunate  with 
Mrs.  Kynaston,  but  had  derived  scant  comfort  from  his 
visit  there.  That  lady,  without  actually  committing  her- 
self to  the  unvarnished  statement  that  Lettice  and  Mr. 
Furzedon  were  engaged,  sent  him  away  quite  under  that 
impression. 

“ It’s  not  announced,  you  know,  but  nobody  has  the 
slightest  doubt  that  it  is  so.  Mr.  Furzedon  has  for  months 
made  no  secret  of  his  admiration  for  Miss  Devereux.  I 
am  sure,  Mr.  Slade,  he  has  bored  me  to  death  with  it. 
She  has  only  had  to  hold  up  her  finger  any  time  the  last 
six  months  to  bring  him  to  his  knees,  and — well — I sup- 
pose at  last  she  has  done  it.” 

“ And  I suppose  there’s  nothing  more  to  be  said  now 
but  to  offer  our  congratulations,”  replied  Bertie.  “ Furze- 
don is  a man  I don’t  much  fancy  myself — he  is  not  quite 
my  sort.” 

“ You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Slade,**  said  the  lady,  with  a 
slight  curl  of  her  lip.  “ I should  not  think  he  was ; but  he 
is  an  excellent  match,  and  that  is  more  to  the  purpose  to 
a young  lady  on  promotion.  I hope  you  were  more  for- 
tunate than  Mr.  Devereux,  who  told  me  he  had  a very  bad 
race.  My  husband  was  in  luck.  He  heard — I don’t  know 
how — that  there  was  something  wrong  about  Belisarius ; 
that  his  jockey  couldn’t  be  trusted,  or  sonlething  of  that 


RAISING  THE  WIND.  219 

sort ; and  both  he  and  Mr.  Furzedon  won  a nice  little 
stake  over  it.” 

“ Indeed  ! ” exclaimed  Bertie,  with  some  interest.  Then 
there  may  be  something  in  a wild  report  that  there  is  flying 
about.  It’s  rumoured  that  Smith,  the  jockey  who  rode 
Belisarius,  was  hocussed  as  he  was  leaving  the  paddock. 
The  man  is  given  to  drink,  and  was  induced  to  have  a glass 
of  wine  for  luck.” 

“ Really,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  **  this  is  the  first  I have 
heard  of  it.  Dick  says  there’s  generally  a canard  of  that 
sort  when  the  favourite  for  a big  race  gets  beaten.” 

“ I dare  say  he  is  right,”  replied  Slade,  “ and  that  this 
report  is  perfectly  unfounded,”  and  then  Bertie  rose  and 
wished  Mrs.  Kynaston  “ Good-bye,’*  receiving  strict  injunc- 
tions from  that  lady  to  be  sure  to  come  and  see  her  again 
when  he  was  next  in  town. 

A very  clever  woman  was  Mrs.  Kynaston,  but,  in  such 
delicate  scheming  as  she  was  at  present  perpetrating,  the 
dropping  of  one  stitch,  the  slightest  mistake,  suffices  to 
destroy  the  entire  web.  From  her  lips  had  just  fallen 
words  the  import  of  which  it  was  impossible  she  could 
forsee.  In  the  idlest  way  she  had  told  Bertie  Slade  that 
Furzedon  had  profited  by  the  defeat  of  Belisarius.  Now, 
Bertie’s  Uncle  Norman  was  not  only  a considerable  suf- 
ferer from  that  result,  but  he  had  also  seen  who  it  was  that 
handed  the  wine  to  Bill  Smith.  He  did  not  know  who 
Furzedon  was,  but  was  not  likely  now  to  forget  his  faoe. 
A hard,  resolute  man,  no  one  was  more  likely  to  persever- 
ingly  unmask  a robbery  than  Norman  Slade.  And,  if  he 
should  happen  to  hear  from  his  nephew  that  the  giver  of 
that  glass  of  wine  had  a direct  interest  in  Bill  Smith’s  not 
winning  the  race,  he  was  likely  to  investigate  the  matter 
thoroughly;  and,  as  we  know  Furzedon  had  by  no  means 
clean  hands  in  the  whole  business,  such  a charge  as  that 
substantiated  against  him  would  mean  social  bankruptcy 
as  far  as  Mr.  Furzedon  was  concerned. 

The  weak  place  in  the  web  that  Mrs.  Kynaston  had 
taken  such  pains  to  weave — and  she  was  painfully  aware 
of  it — was  the  fact  that  her  fib  about  Lattice’s  engage- 
ment was  in  hourly  danger  of  exposure.  It  was  hardly 


SADDLE  AND  SAME. 


possible,  she  thought,  that  Charlie  Devereux  could  see  his 
sister  without  congratulating  her  upon  her  engagement. 
He  had  not  seen  her  yet,  but  she  knew  that  he  was  bound 
to  call  in  Onslow  Gardens  before  he  went  back  to  York. 
It  is  true  she  had  sworn  him  to  secresy,  that  she  had  told 
him  it  was  not  yet  announced,  vowed  that  she  ought  never 
to  have  told  him,  pointed  out  that  he  would  get  her  into  a 
most  awful  scrape  if  he  divulged  it.  “ You’ll  promise  me,’* 
she  had  said,  “ not  to  open  your  mouth  about  it ; Lettie 
would  never  forgive  me  if  you  didn’t  hear  it  first  from  her 
own  lips.”  And  Charlie  had  sworn  to  keep  silence  on  the 
subject.  But  Mrs.  Kynaston  doubted  whether  he  would 
find  it  possible.  Then  again  Lettice  herself  might  allude 
to  it  as  an  absurd  rumour  which  she  requested  him  to  con- 
tradict. She  did  not  think  she  would  do  so ; still  it  was  a 
thing  quite  likely  to  happen.  Mrs.  Kynaston  knew  that 
Mr.  Slade  had  called  at  Onslow  Gardens,  but  she  had 
also  ascertained  unsuccessfully,  and  that  had  been  a great 
piece  of  luck,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  and  she  now 
hoped  that  both  he  and  Charlie  were  well  on  their  way 
back  to  York. 

That,  as  far  as  the  latter  was  concerned,  we  know  was 
not  the  case.  But  he  proved  loyal  to  his  trust.  He  went 
down  to  Onslow  Gardens  on  the  Sunday,  and  saw  both  his 
aunt  and  his  sister.  They  thought  him  rather  absent  and 
distrait^  and,  taking  advantage  of  their  being  left  alone  for 
a few  minutes,  Lettie  pressed  him  pretty  closely  as  to  what 
was  the  matter,  and  then  Charlie  disburdened  his  soul.  He 
told  her  he  had  lost  a terrible  lot  of  money  on  racing,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  to  his  father. 

If  he  won’t  see  me  through  it  my  military  career  must 
come  to  an  abrupt  termination.  I’ve  been  an  awful  fool 
I know,  and  if  the  governor  don’t  stand  to  me  I’m  likely  to 
be  sharply  punished  for  my  folly.  I like  my  profession, 
and  it  will  be  bitter  grief  to  me  to  have  to  give  it  up.” 

“ Is  it  very  big,  Charlie  ? How  much  money  do  you 
suppose  would  clear  you  ? ” 

“ I hardly  know,  but  it  would  take  a lot.” 

“ Father  will  scold,”  rejoined  Lettie,  “ and  you  can’t  be 
much  surprised  at  that.  I think  it  is  possible  that  Aunt 


RAISING  THE  WIND. 


221 


Sarah  might  help  a little.  Five  hundred  would  see  you 
through,  I suppose  ? ’* 

“ Wouldn’t  be  a bit  of  good,”  he  rejoined.  “ It  would 
take  three  times  the  amount.” 

“ Oh  ! Charlie,”  exclaimed  the  girl,  “ this  is  a bad  busi- 
ness. Must  you  have  all  this  money  immediately  ? ” 

“ No,”  he  replied  ; “ but  I must  find  it  in  a few  weeks  at 
the  outside.  At  all  events  it  has  got  to  be  found,  sooner 
or  later.” 

“ And  when  do  you  intend  to  speak  to  father  about  it  ? ” 
“ Well,  I shall  get  a few  days’  leave,  and  come  down  to 
North  Leach.  How  long  shall  you  be  in  town  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  exactly,  but  to  the  end  of  the  season,  I 
hope.  But  I’ll  come  home,  Charlie,  if  you  think  that  I 
can  be  of  any  use.” 

“ You  always  were  a brick,  Lettie ! ” he  rejoined,  kissing 
her;  but,  hush  ! here  comes  Aunt  Sarah.  Not  a word 
to  any  one,  mind,  till  I tell  you  to  speak.” 

Mrs.  Connop  was  extremely  pleased  with  her  nephew, 
and  full  of  questions  concerning  his  military  life.  She 
expressed  her  intention  of  giving  Harrogate  a turn  when 
the  real  hot  weather  set  in.  Then,”  she  continued, 
“ we’ll  come  over  to  York,  and  review  the  regiment,  or 
whatever  you  call  it.”  And  after  a little  desultory  badinage 
of  this  description,  Charlie  took  his  departure. 

The  next  morning  young  Devereux  made  his  way  to 
Jordan  & Co.’s.  He  found  the  representative  of  that  firm 
quite  ready  to  receive  him. 

“ I have  conferred  with  my  partners,  Mr.  Devereux,”  he 
observed ; “ and  they  wish  me  to  point  out  that  we  are 
holding  a good  deal  of  paper  of  yours.  I’ll  admit  that 
your  getting  into  the  army  renders  us  a little  more  secure 
than  we  were,  but  we  don’t  very  much  care  about  advancing 
any  further  money.  Still,  we  don’t  wish  to  leave  an  old 
customer  in  the  lurch ; and,  therefore,  if  you  will  write 
your  name  across  this  bill,  we  are  prepared  to  let  you  have 
it  at  once ; but  you  will  observe  that  this  bill  is  at  thirty 
days’  sight ; in  short,  our  advance  is  only  meant  to  enable 
you  to  look  round  and  procure  the  money  elsewhere.” 
Charlie  thought  for  a moment ; “ I must  go  to  the  goy- 


222 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


ernor,**  he  muttered,  “ and  the  sooner  the  better.  My 
racing  account  must  be  settled  to-day,  but  a month  will  be 
ample  time  in  which  to  come  to  an  explanation  at  home.” 
All  right  1 ” he  said ; ‘‘*1  shall  not  want  it  for  longer. 
Fm  paying  dear  enough  for  it,  as  it  is,  and  have  no  wish  to 
pay  still  further  for  accommodation.” 

‘‘  Quite  right,  Mr.  Devereux,”  replied  the  usurer,  as  he 
counted  out  a bundle  of  notes.  “ The  dearest  thing  you 
can  buy  in  the  world  is  money,  with  the  exception  of 
experience ; and  when  you’ve  got  the  latter,  you  will  never 
buy  the  former.” 

“ Come,  I say,”  replied  Charlie,  “I  don’t  see  what  you’ve 
got  to  complain  about.” 

“ I don’t  complain,”  rejoined  the  money-lender,  laugh- 
ing. “ It’s  my  trade,  and  though  it’s  by  no  means  so  good 
as  it  looks — as  we  have  to  run  great  risks,  and  at  times 
incur  frightful  losses, — still,  I often  wonder  we  have  so 
many  customers  as  we  do.  I think  you’ll  find  that  right, 
sir ; ” and  as  he  concluded  he  pushed  the  notes  across  to 
Charlie. 

Quite  right,  I thank  you,”  rejoined  Devereux,  and, 
blithely  nodding  a good  morning  to  Jordan  & Co.,  he  shot 
out  of  the  dingy  office. 


XXXI. — Furzedon  Returns  to  the  Charge. 

HE  exultation  of  Furzedon  at  the  results  of  the  Derby 


week  was  unbounded.  It  was  not  merely  that  he 


won  a good  bit  of  money,  but  that  Charlie  Devereux 
should  unknowingly  have  come  to  him  for  assistance  in 
his  difficulties  was  a piece  of  rare  good  fortune.  Find 
the  wherewithal  for  Devereux  to  settle  with,  of  course 
he  would ; he  would  have  found  double  the  amount. 
It  was  forging  the  very  weapon  he  wanted  and  placing 
it  in  his  hands;  the  worst  of  those  bills  he  held  was 
that  no  proceedings  could  be  taken  upon  them  for  some 
time,  but  had  purposely  instructed  his  agent  that 


FURZEDON  RETURNS  TO  THE  CHARGE. 


223 


this  time  the  loan  should  be  for  only  a month  ; he  knew 
very  well  how  quickly  a month  slipped  away  under 
^ those  circumstances ; he  knew  very  well  that  Charlie 
' would  have  the  greatest  disinclination  to  apply  to  his 
father,  and  he  felt  pretty  sure  that  he  would  not  until  the 
last  extremity  ; that  he  would  do  so  at  last  Furzedon  never 
doubted,  any  more  than  he  did  that  Tom  Devereux  in  the 
end  would  pay  the  money ; he  was  running  no  risk  if  he 
could  use  this  as  an  engine  with  which  to  induce  Lettie 
Devereux  to  marry  him.  Well  and  good,  he  would  be 
only  too  glad  to  wipe  off  Charlie’s  debts  as  the  price  of  her 
hand.  If,  on  the  contrary,  she  declined  to  make  this  sacri- 
fice in  her  brother’s  interest,  well  he,  at  all  events,  was  not 
likely  to  be  any  loser  by  what  he  had  done.  Sacrifice, 
forsooth  ! There  was  not  much  sacrifice  about  it ; there 
were  plenty  of  girls  in  Lettie’s  position  who  would  only  be 
too  glad  to  share  the  comfortable  home  and  income  he  could 
offer  them.  But  the  difficulties  in  his  way  had  only  increased 
his  desire  to  make  Lettice  his  wife. 

He  was  one  of  those  obstinate  dispositions  that  opposi- 
tion merely  stimulates  ; how  he  had  come  to  wish  for  this 
marriage  he  would  have  been  somewhat  puzzled  to  explain, 
so  dexterously  had  the  idea  been  poured  into  his  mind  by 
Mrs.  Kynaston,  that  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  that  lady 
being  the  originator  of  it.  She  was  his  confidant,  she 
approved  of  it  and  encouraged  it ; he  knew  all  that,  but  he 
still  failed  to  recognise  that,  but  for  Mrs.  Kynaston,  it 
would  probably  never  have  entered  his  head  to  seek  Lettice 
Devereux  in  marriage.  Now  he  was  committed  to  it,  and 
was  resolved  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  bring  it  about. 
The  overthrow  of  Belisarius,  and  Charlie's  consequent 
necessities,  would  enable  him  to  exercise  pressure  at 
once,  and  he  determined  before  June  was  over  that  Miss 
Devereux  should  be  strongly  urged,  for  her  brother’s  sake, 
to  reconsider  her  late  decision.  That  any  harm  could 
possibly  accrue  to  him  from  the  small  part  he  had  taken  in 
the  Belisarius  Derby,  Ralph  Furzedon  v/ould  have  laughed 
to  scorn.  Poisoning  a horse  or  poisoning  a man  are 
ofifences  that  come  clearly  within  the  grasp  of  the  law,  but 
tp  simply  encourage  a drunkard  in  his  inebriety,  ah ! well, 


224 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


there  is  no  penalty  against  that.  But,  though  a man  may 
escape  all  legal  consequences  of  his  acts,  there  sometimes 
follows  a social  crucifixion,  which,  with  Furzedon’s  aims 
and  ambitions,  is  pretty  well  as  bitter  , and,  little  as  he 
thinks  of  it,  just  such  a storm  is  slowly  gathering  round 
Ralph  Furzedon’s  head. 

Miss  Devereux  was  not  a little  put  out  at  missing  Mr. 
Slade.  It  was  most  provoking ; his  calling  twice  showed 
that  he  was  undoubtedly  anxious  to  see  her,  and  if  they 
could  but  have  met  she  thought  that  at  all  events  that  one 
question  would  have  been  solved,  which  she  was  so  anxious 
to  determine — whether  he  was  in  earnest  in  his  intentions 
to  herself  or  not.  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  warned  her  against 
giving  much  credence  to  the  soft  speeches  of  those  Dra- 
goons.” She  had  dwelt  upon  the  fact  that  he  had  never 
thought  it  worth  while  to  come  down  to  North  Leach  for 
that  week’s  hunting ; she  had  ridiculed  the  idea  that 
Charlie  could  not  get  leave,  though  Charlie  protested  him- 
self such  was  the  case  ; but  let  Mrs.  Kynaston  laugh  as 
she  pleased,  there  was  no  getting  over  the  fact  that  during 
a week  like  the  last,  a week  in  which  men’s  hands  are 
generally  full  of  engagements,  Mr.  Slade  had  twice  endea- 
voured to  see  her.  She  talked  matters  over  a little  with 
her  aunt,  and  that  lady,  who  in  her  quiet  undemonstrative 
way  would  have  been  as  much  pleased  with  the  girl’s 
engagement  to  Bertie  Slade  as  she  had  been  the  reverse  at 
the  idea  of  her  marrying  Ralph  Furzedon,  laughed  merrily, 
and  said  : 

It  will  be  time  enough  to  think  what  you  will  do  with 
him  when  he  is  an  avowed  pretender  to  your  hand.  In 
the  meantime,  nothing  will  persuade  me  that  he  is  not 
thoroughly  honest  in  his  admiration.  It  may  be  that  he 
don’t  quite  see  the  ways  and  means.  I think,  for  the  present, 
it  is  a case  for  suspending  judgment,  my  dear.  It  is  very 
unlucky  our  being  out  upon  each  occasion  that  he  called.” 

So  Miss  Devereux  took  much  comfort  from  her  aunt’s 
counsel.  Gilbert  Slade  would  no  doubt  contrive  to  see  her 
before  the  season  was  over.  York  was  no  distance  from 
London,  and  he  would  find  little  difficulty  in  obtaining 
leave,  if  he  wished  fov  it, 


FURZEDON  RETURNS  TO  THE  CHARGE.  225 


But  there  was  another  thing  which,  just  now,  oeca^ioned 
Lettie  considerable  annoyance.  Thanks  to  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton’s  malicious  tongue,  the  report  of  her  engagement  had 
been  spread  pretty  widely  amongst  her  friends  and  ac- 
quaintance. She  was  constantly  exposed  to  most  embar- 
rassing remarks  from  her  friends.  One  of  these,  for 
instance,  would  whisper  into  her  ear  no  end  of  congratula- 
tions. **  I am  so  glad,  dear.”  And  when  Miss  Devereux 
retorted,  “ Congratulations — what  about  ? I am  sure  I 
don’t  understand  you,”  the  other  would  reply,  “ I beg  par- 
don ; I’m  sure  I’ve  no  wish  to  be  premature,  but  I thought 
it  was  quite  an  open  secret  1 ” 

In  vain  did  Lettie  try  to  combat  all  such  felicitations  ; 
it  was  useless  ; the  rumour  was  too  strong  for  her.  It  had 
spread  about  that  she  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Furzedon,  and  the  world  refused  to  believe  anything  else. 
On  the  contrary,  it  scolded  Lettie  behind  her  back  for 
denying  it.  “ Such  nonsense  1 ” remarked  her  friends. 
‘‘  Why  cannot  she  openly  announce  it  ? What  on  earth 
can  she  want  to  make  a secret  and  a mystery  of  it  for  ? ’* 
Mr.  Furzedon,  too,  contributed  not  a little  to  this  belief. 
He  contrived  to  obtain  most  accurate  information  of  Miss 
Devereux’s  movements,  and  wherever  Lettice  went,  there, 
if  he  could  manage  it,  was  Mr.  Furzedon.  He  played  his 
rSle,  too,  perfectly  on  such  occasions  ; he  was  not  so 
obtrusive  in  his  attentions  as  to  give  the  girl  any  oppor- 
tunity of  sharply  declining  tfiem.  He  was  scrupulously 
polite — rather  too  formally  so,  people  said,  for  an  afi&anced 
lover  ; but  he  was  always  there  en  evidence^  and  giving  the 
idea  that  he  was  in  attendance  on  Miss  Devereux.  Lettie 
chafed  terribly  under  what  she  considered  this  persecution, 
but  she  was  powerless  to  put  an  end  to  it,  unless  she  gave 
up  society  altogether.  Mr.  Furzedon  was  far  too  cunning 
to  allow  her  to  come  to  an  explanation,  and  bore  the  rebuffs 
he  occasionally  encountered  with  imperturbable  serenity. 

In  the  meantime  Miss  Devereux  was  also  much  troubled 
in  her  mind  at  not  hearing  from  Charlie.  As  the  month  of 
June  slipped  by  and  brought  no  letter,  she  begun  to  fear 
that  he  had  committed  some  stiU  greater  folly  than  before  ; 
debts  don’t  pay  themselves,  and  Charlie  had  no  one  to  go 


226 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


to  except  his  father  or  Mrs.  Connop,  and  in  either  case 
Lattice  felt  sure  that  she  would  have  heard  of  it.  What 
was  he  doing  ? He  had  told  her  himself  that  the  settle- 
ment of  his  liabilities  admitted  of  little  delay,  and  still, 
oddly  enough,  she  had  heard  nothing  whatever  of  him. 
He  had  promised  to  write ; and,  bad  correspondent  though 
he  was,  yet,  upon  this  occasion,  she  did  think  he  would 
have  kept  his  word.  She  had  no  idea  that  Charlie  or  Mr. 
Slade  had  heard  anything  of  this  silly  report  about  her 
engagement.  It  had  never  crossed  her  mind  that  this 
rumour  had  reached  York.  Charlie  never  mentioned  that 
he  corresponded  with  Mrs.  Kynaston  ; nor  had  he  seen  fit 
to  tell  her  of  that  visit  to  town  some  few  weeks  back. 
Lettie’s  friendship  with  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  rather  cooled 
of  late,  and,  indeed,  would  have  cooled  considerably  more 
still  if  that  lady  would  have  allowed  it  to  do  so,  but  Mrs. 
Kynaston  had  no  idea  of  that.  It  did  not  suit  her  at  all  to 
have  any  breach  with  the  Devereuxes  ; and  when  accused 
of  the  mischief  she  had  done  by  her  foolish  speaking — for 
Lettie  indignantly  taxed  her  with  having  originated  this 
report  concerning  herself  and  Mr.  Furzedon — she  was  full 
of  apologies  for  the  mischief  she  had  unwittingly  done. 
She  denied  emphatically  that  she  was  the  founder  of  the 
story  ; she  had  heard  it — well,  she  really  could  not  say 
where,  how,  or  from  whom  ; and  she  admitted  that  she 
had  been  indiscreet  enough  to  mention  it  to  two  or  three 
people.  Lettie  knew  that  she  had  always  told  her  that 
she  might  be  Mrs.  Furzedon  if  she  willed;  she  really 
thought  it  would  come  about ; and  that,  though  not  an- 
nounced, it  was  quite  an  open  secret.  She  was  sorry  if 
she  had  done  wrong ; but  she  honestly  believed  that  a 
more  harmless  bit  of  news  she  had  never  passed  on  in  soci- 
ety ; and,  more  than  that,  she  was  only  sorry  to  hear  it 
was  not  true.  In  short,  Mrs.  Kynaston  would  not  quarrel, 

^ and  therefore  Lettie  'was  compelled  to  some  extent  to  con- 
tinue the  old  friendship. 

' Mr.  Furzedon  had  never  made  his  appearance  in  Onslow 
Gardens  since  his  failure  ; but  one  morning  towards  the 
end  of  May  Lettie  received  a note  from  him  to  say  that 
ke  would  call  about  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  most 


FURZEDON  RETURNS  TO  THE  CHARGE.  22/  ‘ 

earnestly  entreating  her  to  see  him  alone,  if  not  otherwise 
engaged.  When  Miss  Devereux  showed  this  letter  to  her 
aunt,  Mrs.  Connop’s  bristles  were  all  on  end. 

“ It’s  ridiculous,  Lettie,”  she  said  ; “ no  wonder  this 
report  still  continues  about  you  both.  No  wonder  he  still, 
dangles  about  you  as  far  as  he  dare.  I never  asked  you 
particulars  ; but  I certainly  understand  that  you  had  said 
‘No’  to  him  decisively.  Of  course  the  man  is  coming 
down  here  to  ask  you  the  same  question  over  again. 
Now  do  be  resolute  this  time,  and  send  him  about  his 
business.” 

The  afternoon  came.  The  drawing-room  was  duly  given 
up  to  Miss  Devereux,  and  a very  few  minutes  after  three 
Mr.  Furzedon  was  announced. 

“ I would  not  have  intruded  upon  you,”  he  observed, 

“ except  in  the  interests  of  your  family.  Your  brother 
Charlie  is  a very  dear  friend  of  mine ; are  you  aware  that 
he  is  in  most  serious  money  difficulties  ? ” 

“ He  told  me  as  much,”  replied  Lettice,  but  won’t 
you  sit  down  ? ” 

Furzedon  took  advantage  of  her  invitation.  **  You  are 
hardly  aware,”  he  continued,  “ I dare  say,  of  what  a very 
serious  business  this  really  is.  I have  learnt  it,  quite 
lately,  and  by  accident : it  seems  he  was  not  only  heavily 
embarrassed  at  Cambridge,  but  he  has  further  lost  a great 
deal  of  money  on  this  last  Derby.  He  has  borrowed  the 
money  at  short  notice  to  pay  his  Derby  losses,  and  this 
money  he  will  have  to  find  almost  immediately.  He 
further  has  the  Cambridge  liabilities  hanging  over  his 
head,  and  the  whole  thing.  Miss  Devereux,  unless  satis- 
torily  settled  by  somebody,  involves  the  complete  ruin  of 
his  career.  May  I ask  if  he  has  confessed  the  state  of 
things  to  his  father  ? ” 

“ Allow  me  to  ask,  Mr.  Furzedon,  if  you  are  in  my 
brother’s  confidence  ? ” 

“No;  it  would  be  better  for  him  if  I were;  but  of 
course,  as  he  has  not  thought  proper  to  confide  his 
troubles  to  me,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  speak  to  him 
about  them.” 

“ Still,  Mr.  Furzedon,  I do  not  as  yet  see  the  object  of 


‘ 228 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


this  interview.  You  are  not  in  my  brother’s  confidence, 
and  acknowledge  you  have  no  claim  to  interfere,  why  then 
come  down  to  discuss  the  subject  with  me  ? ” 

“ Because,  as  you  know  very  well,  it  only  rests  with  you 
to  give  me  the  best  of  all  possible  rights  to  interfere ; I am 
very  fond  of  Charlie,  and  could  wish  nothing  better  than 
to  save  him  in  this  crisis.  As  his  brother-in-law,  I could 
step  in  at  once ; before  a week  was  out  he  should  be  free 
from  all  his  embarrassments ; only  give  me  the  authority  I 
humbly  sued  for  the  other  day  ; be  my  wife.  Miss  Deve- 
reux.  You  may  not  feel  towards  me  now  as  I would  wish, 
but  my  devotion  must  conquer,  and  I am  content  to  v/ait 
for  the  love  of  which  I shall  be  so  proud.” 

“ No,  no  ! ” she  cried.  “ I told  you  before  that  I cannot 
do  this  thing.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Furzedon,  for  the  compli- 
ment you  have  paid  me,  but  I cannot  marry  you.” 

“ Then  you  refuse  to  save  your  brother  from  ruin  at  the 
outset  of  his  career,”  rejoined  Furzedon,  slowly. 

“You  have  no  right  to  say  so!”  she  exclaimed,  vehe- 
mently. “ It  is  himself  has  wrought  his  own  undoing. 
He  can  hardly  expect  me  to  save  him  from  the  conse- 
quences of  his  own  folly.” 

“ That  is  exactly  what  I appeal  to  you  to  do,  to  save 
him  from  the  consequences  of  his  own  madness.” 

Furzedon  had  indirectly  been  the  original  cause  of 
Charles  Devereux’s  difficulties  : he  it  was  who  first  per- 
suaded him — Charlie — to  go  to  Newmarket;  and  his  ex- 
ample, however  unintentionally,  it  was  that  had  led  him 
into  betting  so  much  more  heavily  than  he  could  afford. 

“ You  have  had  your  answer,  sir,”  replied  Lettie,  after 
a pause.  “ It  is  unfair,  ungenerous,  to  press  me  further 
on  the  subject.” 

“I  can  do  no  more,”  replied  Furzedon,  rising ; “but, 
believe  me,  unless  your  father  comes  to  the  rescue,  Charlie’s 
soldiering  days  are  numbered.  He  would  have  to  fly  the 
country,  for  his  commission  money  will  not  suffice  to  satisfy 
his  creditors.” 

“ And  no  doubt  his  father  will  pay  his  debts  for  him,” 
said  Lettie,  proudly,  and  with  a confidence  which  she  was 
far  from  feeling;  and  then  Miss  Devereux  made  him  a 


IN  THE  USURER'S  FANGS.  229 

rather  ceremonious  bend,  as  an  intimation  that  their  inte- 
view  was  over. 

“ I’m  sorry  you  can’t  think  better  of  me.  I would  have 
saved  Charlie  if  I could,  for  his  own  sake,  I should  have 
been  doubly  pleased  to  have  done  so  for  yours.  Good-bye, 
Miss  Devereux.  You  have  twice  said  ‘ No  ’ to  an  honest 
love ; I can  only  say  now.  May  all  happiness  await  30U  1 ” 
Very  pretty  words,  but  Lettice  thought  she  detected  a 
malicious  sneer  in  the  tone.  It  might  have  been  merely 
her  own  fancy ; still  it  stung  her  pride,  and  made  her  feel 
that  this  man  had,  after  all,  been  merely  bargaining  for 
her  hand. 

“Thank  you,”  she  replied,  bitterly;  “whatever  your 
regard  for  Charlie  may  be  I strongly  advise  you  not  to 
let  my  brother  know  that  you  considered  his  sister’s  hand 
a fair  equivalent  for  the  liquidation  of  his  debts.” 

Furzedon  muttered  something  in  reply,  to  the  effect  that 
she  was  not  doing  him  justice,  and  then  retired,  rebuffed, 
but  by  no  means  disheartened.  He  had  not  been  unduly 
sanguine,  and,  though  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  had 
met  this  time  with  a most  unqualified  refusal,  yet  he  had 
no  intention  of  abandoning  his  suit. 


XXXII. — In  the  Usurer’s  Fangs. 

Bertie  SLADE  is  back  in  York,  and  is  strongly 
impressed  with  that  feeling  which  comes  to  all  of  us 
when  the  world  is  not  running  quite  to  our  liking — that  ail 
is  vanity.  He  has  no  doubt  now  of  Miss  Devereux’s 
engagement ; and  yet,  as  a matter  of  fact,  he  has  no  more, 
grounds  to  go  upon  than  when  he  went  up  to  London.^ 
Mrs.  Kynaston  had  told  Charlie  that  it  was  so  then,  Mrs. 
Kynaston  has  told  him  that  it  is  so  now ; analysed,  the 
whole  story  rests,  as  it  has  done  from  the  first,  on  Mrs.  Ky- 
naston’s  word.  Bertie  Slade  is  by  nature  a cool,  resolute, 
clear-headed  man ; but  it  is  seldom  that  those  points  stand 
to  one  in  a case  of  this  kind  ; and  it  was  not  until  he  found 


SADDLE  AND  SABRB. 


himself  forestalled,  and  that  another  had  stolen  his  love, 
that  he  became  the  least  aware  of  how  deeply  his  feelings 
were  involved.  He  took  it  as  men  of  his  type  do  ; he  was, 
perhaps,  a little  quieter,  a little  graver  in  manner,  but 
otherwise  no  one  would  have  guessed  that  a great  trouble 
was  upon  him,  and  that  he  had  lost,  as  he  believed,  a bigger 
stake  than  any  of  the  wild  gamblers  on  Epsom  Downs. 

There  are  men  who  make  plaint  of  their  misfortunes  on 
love’s  tangled  pathways,  who  carry  their  hearts  on  their 
sleeves,  and  call  upon  all  those  they  come  across  to  con- 
dole with  them  upon  Chloe’s  fickleness ; men  who  carry 
their  tale  of  woe  in  their  faces,  but  whose  wounds  are  only 
skin-deep ; a man  who  would  weep  in  response  to  the 
question  of  the  American  humourist — “ Has  calico  proved 
deceitful  ? ” But  Bertie  Slade  was  not  of  this  kind ; he 
might  not  show  it,  but,  nevertheless,  he  felt  the  loss  of 
Lettice  Devereux  very  bitterly.  Then  he  wondered  what 
on  earth  Charlie  meant  to  do ; he  had  got  to  like  the  boy 
very  much,  and  knew  that  he  must  be  hovering  on  the 
very  brink  of  ruin.  Young  Devereux  had  said  nothing  to 
him  since  that  brief  conversation  at  Dimmer’s.  What  did 
he  mean  to  do  ? Surely  it  must  be  getting  high  time  that 
he  consulted  with  his  father  about  how  his  difficulties  were 
to  be  got  over ; but  no,  he  pointedly  avoided  all  conversa- 
tion with  Slade  on  the  subject,  and  to  any  inquiries  about 
whe»  he  was  going  to  North  Leach  rejoined  carelessly, 
“ It  didn’t  matter  for  two  or  three  weeks  yet,”  and  Bertie 
did  not  care  to  force  his  confidence.  How  or  upon  what 
terms  Charlie  had  raised  money  to  settle  his  Epsom  debts 
Slade  did  not  know ; but  he  felt  convinced  that  if  he  did  not 
take  counsel  with  his  father  there  would  be  an  explosion 
before  many  weeks  were  over  his  head. 

The  fact  was,  that,  with  all  his  gay,  careless,  insouciant^ 
manner,  Charlie  Devereux  was  by  no  means  on  a bed  of 
roses.  He  too  knew  the  explosion  must  come,  and  he 
knew  further  how  very  near  it  was  at  hand,  but,  like  npany 
men  of  his  type,  he  shrank  from  all  unpleasantness ; physi- 
cal danger  be  would  have  faced  without  a moment’s  hesi- 
tation, but  he  shirked  that  mauvais  quart  d'heure  with  his 
father,  like  the  veriest  craner  does  the  brook  in  a stiff 


fN  THE  USURER^S  FANGS. 


231 


country.  He  knew  that  it  must  be  ; but  that,  he  argued, 
was  no  reason  that  it  should  be  before  it  was  imperative. 
He  rocked  himself  to  sleep  with  the  idea  that  he  could  not 
well  ask  for  leave  again  so  soon,  and  that  it  would  be  time 
enough  for  him  to  go  to  North  Leach  and  make  full  coii' 
fession  when  it  was  notified  to  him  that  his  acceptances 
had  become  due. 

But  if  Charlie  Devereux  took  things  easy  and  dallied 
with  the  golden  moments  it  was  far  otherwise  with  Mr. 
Furzedon.  He  anxiously  counted  every  hour  that  lay 
between  him  and  the  next  step  in  his  strange  wooing,  and 
no  time  was  lost  when  the  moment  arrived  for  setting  in 
motion  the  machinery  of  the  law.  Legal  proceedings 
against  Charlie  Devereux  followed  promptly  on  the  curt 
intimation  that  his  bill  was  protested,  followed  indeed  with 
a promptitude  that  Charlie  little  dreamed  of.  He  had 
written  in  reply  to  the  notice  he  had  received  to  say  that 
he  would  make  all  arrangements  to  settle  the  affair  in  the 
course  of  a few  days,  but  Jordan  & Co.  paid  scant  atten- 
tion to  this  epistle,  but  loosed  the  bloodhounds  of  the  law 
without  more  ado. 

Devereux  was  lazily  sauntering  out  of  the  ante-room 
one  afternoon,  when  he  was  encountered  by  one  of  his 
special  cronies,  a precocious  young  gentleman,  always 
keenly  awake  to  what  was  going  on  around  him. 

“Hold  on,  Charlie,”  he  exclaimed,  “there  are  two  as 
suspicious-looking  gents  as  ever  I set  eyes  on  anxiously 
inquiring  for  you — they  are  hovering  about  your  quarters, 
and  have  got  sheriff’s  officers  written  in  every  line  of  their 
ugly  faces.  Stay  where  you  are,  old  man,  if  you’ve  any 
cause  to  be  afraid  of  such  cattle.  Just  fill  your  pocket 
with  cigars,  and  wait  till  I come  back.  I’ll  have  my  pony 
round  at  the  back  door  in  ten  minutes.  If  you  bucket  him 
into  York,  you’ll  catch  the  evening  train  easy.  Bertie 
Slade  will  make  it  all  right  for  you  with  the  chief,  and  you 
can  just  keep  out  of  the  way  for  a few  days  while  matters 
are  arranged.” 

He  had  often  pictured  to  himself  something  of  the  kind 
happening,  but  all  the  same  the  blow  came  rather  like  a 
thunderclap  at  last.  He  had  thought  there  would  be  yaore 


232 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


notice  ; he  had  never  dreamed  of  its  being  all  so  sudden  ; 
still,  Charlie  could  think  of  nothing  better  than  what  his 
young  counsellor  suggested  ; he  turned  back  into  the  ante- 
room, rang  the  bell,  refilled  his  cigar-case,  sent  down  to 
the  messman  for  five  pounds’  worth  of  change,  and  then 
quietly  awaited  the  upshot  of  events. 

Young  Sparshot  was  back  within  the  time  he  mentioned. 

There’s  no  mistake  about  it,  Charlie,”  he  cried ; “ these 
fellows  are  thirsting  for  blood.  The  pony  will  be  round  in 
two  minutes,  and  don’t  spare  him.  You  can  leave  him  at 
the  Station  Hotel.  They’ll  take  care  of  him  there  for  me. 
Ah ! here  he  is  ; now,  old  fellow,  slip  quietly  round  the 
right  wing  of  the  barracks.  Your  quarters,  which  they 
are  watching,  are  on  the  left.  If  you’ve  luck  you’ll  be 
through  the  gate  before  they  know  you’ve  gone.  At  all 
events,  it  will  be  quite  your  own  fault  if  they  catch  you. 
I’ll  see  a portmanteau  is  sent  after  you  to  Limmer’s.” 

Charlie  made  no  reply,  but  wrung  his  friend’s  hand  and 
jumped  into  the  saddle.  Five  minutes  more  and  a tri- 
umphant ‘‘  Yoicks,  gone  away,”  from  Sparshot  startled 
the  bailiff’s  on  their  post,  but  Devereux  was  in  a hand 
gallop,  and  half-way  to  York  before  they  realised  that  their 
prey  had  escaped  them.  Arrived  there,  he  found  that  he 
had  just  ten  minutes  to  spare,  and,  having  taken  his  ticket, 
thought  it  prudent  to  lurk  as  far  as  possible  in  the  back- 
ground ; but  he  need  have  been  under  no  apprehension, 
for  nobody  appeared  likely  to  interfere  with  him.  And  at 
the  appointed  time  he  steps  into  a first-class  carriage,  and  is 
whirled  away  to  the  metropolis  to  “ make  arrangements.” 

“ Making  arrangements  ” is  a vague  and  comprehensive 
phrase  ever  on  the  lips  of  gentlemen  in  difficulties  ; it  seems 
very  easy  at  the  first  blush  to  make  arrangements,  though 
when  it  is  sought  to  put  such  in  practice  it  is  disgusting  to 
find  that  these  brilliant  schemes  are  by  no  means  so  easy  to 
carry  out.  Charlie  was  in  for  it  now,  and  at  once  showed 
plenty  of  decision ; he  only  waited  in  London  till  the 
arrival  of  his  portmanteau,  and  then  at  once,  retracing  his 
steps,  went  down  to  North  Leach,  to  make  full  confession 
to  his  father. 

He  was  aware  that  his  father  could  lose  his  temper  ; he 


IN  THE  usurer's  FANGS. 


233 


had  seen  him  more  than  once  give  way  to  his  wrath,  but  to 
Charlie  he  had  ever  been  a kind  and  indulgent  father  ; even 
when  the  lad  got  into  his  first  money  scrape  at  Cambridge, 
old  Tom  Devereux  had  made  comparatively  little  fuss  about 
it.  He  had  called  him  a “ domned  young  fule” — Tom’s 
Lincolnshire  dialect  was  apt  to  get  of  the  broadest  when 
he  was  excited — but  he  supposed  the  young  ’uns  must  have 
their  fling,  and  that  they  would  kick  over  the  traces  a bit. 
But  this  time,  the  old  gentleman  was  very  angry  ; he  vowed 
he  would  put  down  no  such  sum  as  that  to  pay  for  a son’s 
extravagance  ; he  had  paid  his  debts  at  the  University ; he 
had  only  the  other  day  found  a lot  of  money  for  his  outfit ; 
and,  if  he  had  been  idiot  enough  to  get  sixteen  hundred 
pounds  in  debt,  well,  he  m«st  just  face  the  consequences. 
Did  the  lad  think  that  the  brass  was  so  easy  to  come  by  as 
all  that  ? If  it  had  been  to  start  him  in  any  business,  well, 
he- might  have  thought  about  it,  but  to  pay  for  his  reckless 
extravagance,  not  if  he  knew  it  1 Charlie  had  got  himseli 
into  the  scrape,  and  he  must  get  himself  out  ashe  best  might. 

To  stay  longer  at  North  Leach  Charlie  felt  was  dan- 
gerous. When  his  persecutors  discovered  that  he  had  fled 
from  York  his  own  home  was  one  of  the  places  they  would 
naturally  expect  him  to  head  for.  His  father  was  obdurate  ; 
time  might  soften  him,  but  that  was  exactly  what  Charlie 
had  not  to  spare.  A line  from  Bertie  Slade  had  told  him 
that  the  Colonel  would  be  as  liberal  as  he  could  to  him  in 
the  matter  of  leave.  ‘‘  But  remember,  Charlie,  that  after 
all  only  means  two  or  three  weeks  * at  the  end  of  that  time 
you  will  have  to  give  him  a definite  answer  about  what  you 
propose  to  do.  I’m  sure  he  will  forward  your  views  in 
every  respect,  but  I own  I see  nothing  for  you  but  to 
exchange  to  India,  and  even  that  must  depend  on  your 
being  able  to  make  some  sort  of  terms  with  Jordan  & Co. 
If  you  think  I can  be  of  any  use,  say  so,  and  I will  run  up 
to  town  and  do  all  I can  for  you.  I should  think  Jordan 
& Co.,  when  they  find  your  father  won’t  pay,  will  meet  you 
in  the  matter  of  allowing  you  to  exchange.  You  see  they 
have  always  some  sort  of  hold  upon  you  while  you  are  in 
the  army,  and  if  they  take  that  view  of  the  case,  well,  my 
uncle,  Bob  Braddock,  can  be  once  more  of  use  to  you/’ 


m 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Charlie,  who  had  betaken  himself  once  more  to  town, 
was  only  too  delighted  to  accept  Bertie’s  offer  ; he  was 
indeed  mooning  about  in  a state  of  the  utmost  dejection, 
afraid  to  show  in  his  usual  haunts,  and  without  the  slightest 
idea  of  what  steps  he  had  best  take.  He  had  been  very 
loath  to  appeal  to  his  father,  but  for  all  that  it  had  never 
occurred  to  him  that  his  father  would  not  eventually  come 
to  his  assistance.  Blown  up,  pitched  into,  and  abused  he 
had  expected  to  be,  but  he  had  fancied  that  three  tem- 
pestuous days  at  North  Leach  would  have  brought  matters 
to  a satisfactory  conclusion.  It  might  perhaps  have  been 
better  had  Lettice  been  there  to  plead  for  him  ; but  she 
was  still  in  London,  and  at  the  end  of  forty-eight  hours, 
despairing  of  making  any  impression  on  his  father’s  ob- 
duracy, he  had  wended  his  way  back  to  the  metropolis. 

Bertie  Slade  made  his  appearance  in  rapid  response  to 
Charlie’s  appeal,  and  a long  conference  took  place  between 
the  pair  forthwith. 

“ It’s  a deuce  of  a mess,  Charlie,  and  I’m  afraid  you’ll 
have  to  tumble  down  to  infantry,”  remarked  his  mentor  ; 
“ in  fact,  to  get  on  your  feet  again  you  will  have  to  go  on 
your  feet.  I suppose  there’s  not  a chance  of  the  governor 
melting  ?” 

“ Not  the  slightest,*^  replied  young  Devereux  ; on  the 
contrary,  just  at  present  I think  he’d  be  rather  pleased  to 
hear  I was  arrested.” 

“ Well,”  said  his  more  knowing  comrade,  I’m  not  quite 
certain  that  would  not  be  the  very  best  way  out  of  youi 
difficulties ; the  sternest  of  parents  are  wont  to  relent  a 
bit  under  such  circumstances,  and,  if  they  are  not  in  too 
great  a hurry,  the  most  grasping  of  usurers  will  get  a little 
anxious  to  come  to  terms.  The  only  thing  is,  that  I’m 
afraid  we  shouldn’t  save  the  commission,  and  you  don’t 
want  to  cut  soldiering,  Charlie  ?” 

“ No,”  returned  young  Devereux,  warmly,  “ I’m  not  one 
of  those  fellows  who  can  turn  their  hand  to  anything ; I 
shall  never  do  any  good  at  anything  else.” 

“ Well,  we’ve  no  time  to  lose,”  said  Bertie.  “ I’ll  just 
walk  down  and  have  a talk  with  my  uncle  about  it,  and 
hear  what  he  has  got  to  say  ; and  then  we’ll  trot  down  to 


IN  THE  USURER'S  FANGS. 


*ss 

the  agents,  and  tell  them  to  look  us  out  an  exchange.  It 
will  have  to  be  to  infantry,  though,  if  we’re  to  make  any 
money  out  of  it.  There’s  deuced  little  difference  between 
cavalry  in  India  and  cavalry  at  home,  just  now.” 

“ Anything,  so  long  as  I have  not  to  give  up  the  service,” 
rejoined  Charlie;  “ I leave  all  to  you.” 

So  Bertie  Slade  walked  down  to  the  Thermopolium  ; 
and,  after  a little,  contrived  to  come  across  his  uncle. 

“ Come  to  grief,  already,”  exclaimed  Major  Braddock, 
w^hen  he  heard  the  story.  “ Hang  it  ! I don’t  like  protegh 
of  mine  going  off  the  rails  quite  so  quick  as  that.  How- 
ever, it  seems,  from  what  you  tell  me,  the  boy  has  done  no 
worse  than  make  a born  fool  of  himself ; and  the  greater 
part  of  his  folly  was  committed  before  he  joined.  I’m 
sorry  for  him,  Bertie ; for  he  struck  me  as  a nice  young 
fellow.  But  you’re  quite  right ; there’s  only  one  thing  for 
him,  and  that  is,  to  exchange.  He’ll  get  a bit  of  money  to 
go  into  a line  regiment,  and  we  must  turn  the  screw  on  his 
father,  and  induce  him  to  pay  up  a bit  for  him.  As  for 
the  exchange  part  of  it,  you’ll  probably  not  want  my  help. 
If  there  is  any  hitch  about  it.  I’ll  do  what  I can.  I’ll  tell 
you  what  more  I’ll  do.  I’ll  not  only  write  myself,  but  I’ll 
write  to  your  chief,  and  get  him  also  to  pen  a letter  to  old 
Mr.  Devereux,  urging  him  to  do  what  he  can  to  save  a 
promising  young  fellow’  from  having  to  give  up  a profession 
he  was  made  for.  Tell  the  young  one  to  keep  up  his 
spirits,  and  let  me  know  what  you’ve  done  about  the 
exchange  as  soon  as  possible.  In  the  meantime,  take  my 
advice,  get  young  Devereux  across  the  water  as  soon  as 
may  be.  Let  him  wait  at  Boulogne  while  we  arrange 
matters  for  him.’' 

As  Bertie  Slade  said,  when  he  got  back,  ‘‘  It  was  worth 
goingto  have  a talk  with  Uncle  Bob,  Charlie.  That  last 
tip  of  his  was  well  worth  having;  we  shall  make  much 
better  terms  with  Jordan  & Co.  when  they  find  that  you 
are  beyond  their  reach.” 


2^6 


SADDLB  AND  SABRR 


XXXIIL — Shere  Ali  the  Dacoit. 

I 

A WIDE  sandy  plain,  out  of  which  huge  boulder-rocks! 

crop  in  various  places,  with  a torrid  afternoon  sunj 
still  blazing  fiercely  down  upon  it — traversed,  nevertheless,' 
by  a broad  but  well-used  highway,  not  far  from  the  side  of 
which  a tope  of  palm-trees  marks  the  presence  of  a spring. 
In  this  little  oasis  of  the  sandy  desert  was  a small  encamp- 
ment, some  half-dozen  tents  in  all.  From  a marquee, 
standing  a little  apart  from  the  others,  emerges  a thick-set, 
powerful  man,  clothed  in  the  gray  kharkee  uniform  worn 
by  Her  Majesty’s  troops  in  India  when  they  mean  busi- 
ness— that  is  to  say,  it  is  the  dress  more  especially  set 
aside  for  campaigning — a pith  helmet,  around  which  a 
puggaree  of  many  folds  is  twisted,  crowned  the  man’s  head. 
For  a minute  or  two  he  gazed  listlessly  around,  then 
exclaimed,  apparently  for  the  edification  of  somebody 
inside  the  tent — 

‘‘  Phew  ! how  stifling  hot  it  is — here,  get  up,  you  lazy 
young  beggar,  the  sun  is  beginning  to  drop,  and  in  another 
hour  the  heat  will  become  endurable.  We  may  as  well  get 
the  horses  and  ride  on  to  the  edge  of  this  plain.  Thank 
heavens  ! we  shall  be  across  it  to-morrow.” 

By  this  time  the  other  denizen  of  the  marquee  had  made 
his  appearance.  Like  the  first,  he  is  also  clothed  in  gray 
kharkee,  and  as  he  joined  his  companion  remarks,  “ All 
right,  Hobson,  I am  good  for  a ride  whenever  you  like ; 
but  I am  bound  to  say  this  guerilla-hunting  is  the  dullest 
sport  that  I ever  embarked  in.  The  beggars  have  no  idea 
of  fighting,  and  they  have  walked  us  pretty  well  off  our 
legs  in  our  endeavours  to  bring  them  to  book.” 

“ You  are  quite  right,”  rejoined  the  other,  a veteran  cap- 
tain of  infantry,  who  had  been  marching  and  fighting  all 
over  India  for  the  last  twenty  years.  “It  is  all  nonsense 
sending  foot-soldiers  after  these  chaps ; cavalry  or  mounted 
infantry  are  the  only  people  to  tackle  them  ; but  you  make 
a mistake  in  one  thing,  Devereux : you  will  find  these 
fellows  will  fight  like  the  very  devil  if  ever  we  do  get 
them  into  a comer;  but,  like  all  robbers  that  I hare 


SHERE  ALI  THE  DACOIT.  237 

ever  heard  of,  they  naturally  don’t  want  to  fight  if  they 
can  help  it.” 

“I  suppose,”  rejoined  Charlie  Devereux,  “this  is  the 
chronic  state  of  India,  and  that  our  principal  employment 
is  the  suppression  of  dacoits,  guerillas,  or  by  whatever  fancy 
name  these  highway  robbers  think  fit  to  honour  them- 
selves.” 

“ Well,”  rejoined  Hobson,  laughing,  “ I won’t  say  but 
what  there  is  a little  of  it  always  going  on,  but  generally 
not  more  than  the  police  are  able  to  cope  with.  What 
makes  them  very  bad  in  these  parts  is  this : It  is  some 
few  years  now  since  the  Mutiny,  but  these  fellows  are  the 
dregs  of  that  revolt.  You  see,  these  are  sepoys  who  were 
forced  to  the  jungle  at  that  time ; their  leaders  are  men 
we  should  undoubtedly  have  hung  if  we  could  have  laid 
hands  on  them  at  the  time,*  and  they  no  doubt  believe  we 
shall  do  so  still ; but  you  need  never  be  afraid  in  India  that 
you  won’t  see  fighting — we  have  always  a little  row  going 
on  somewhere.” 

“Oh!  I’m  not  grumbling,”  rejoined  Charlie;  “I  only 
regret  that  our  friends  in  front  are  so  confoundedly  long  in 
the  leg.” 

“ Well,”  rejoined  Hobson,  “ I have  got  one  bit  of  good 
news  for  you  : In  consequence  of  my  strong  representation 
that  we  were  marching  our  men  to  death,  and  are  still 
unable  to  come  up  with  these  fellows,  we  have  made  an 
application  to  mount  a company.  If  it  is  only  granted, 
I am  to  have  the  command  and  organizing  of  it ; and,  on 
the  strength  of  your  having  been  through  the  riding-school, 
I will  take  you  as  one  of  my  subalterns  if  you  like.” 

“ Only  too  much  obliged  to  you,”  rejoined  Charlie.  “ By 
Jove  1 if  we  only  get  leave,  we  will  deuced  soon  bring 
these  beggars  to  book  then.” 

“Yes,”  rejoined  Hobson,  “it  would  take  a very  little 
while  to  organise  them;  we  have  only  got  to  pick  out  the  fel- 
lows who  can  ride  a bit,  and  they  would  be  fit  to  go  any- 
where in  a month.  We  don’t  want  them  drilled  up  to 
Dragoon  pattern.  Ah  I here  come  the  ponies ; and  now 
for  our  afternoon  canter.” 

Some  months  have  elapsed  since  Charlie  Devereux 


SADDLE  AND  SABRl. 


238 

escaped  from  his  native  country.  The  term  ‘‘escape”  is 
used  advisedly,  for  escape  it  was  in  the  most  rigid  sense  of 
the  word.  When  Major  Braddock  took  a thing  in  hand 
he  was  wont  to  go  into  it  very  thoroughly.  He  had  inter- 
ested himself  about  young  Devereux  in  the  first  instance 
at  Bertie’s  request,  but  he  took  to  the  boy  kindly  on  his 
own  account : a young  gentleman  who  thus  early  displayed 
such  delicate  perception  of  the  art  of  dining  was  sure  to 
win  his  way  to  the  Major’s  heart.  Major  Braddock  not  only 
interested  himself  very  much  about  Charlie’s  exchange, 
but  he  also  interposed  with  some  sound  advice  regarding 
his  affairs.  The  Major  was  a man  of  the  world,  and  had 
more  than  once,  in  his  soldiering  days,  intervened  between 
the  usurer  and  his  prey. 

“You  are  very  good,  I dare  say,  Bertie;  anybody,  of 
course,  can  manage  the  young  idiot’s  affairs  better  than 
himself ; but  I understand  all  this  sort  of  thing  better  than 
you  do.  The  first  thing  is  to  get  him  out  of  the  country ; 
when  he  is  safe  in  India,  Jordan  & Co.  will  be  very  glad  to 
come  to  terms ; of  course  they  must  have  back  the  money 
he  actually  borrowed,  but  we  will  cut  down  the  percentage 
pretty  extensively.  Where  is  he  now  ? ” 

“ In  hiding,  out  at  Hampstead,”  replied  Bertie^ 

“ Well,  impress  on  his  mind  that  he  must  keep  very 
close,  and  the  sooner  he  is  off  the  better.  He  ought  to 
be  well  on  to  his  way  to  India  before  he  appears  in  the 
Gazette,  The  minute  they  see  that,  Jordan  & Co.  will 
understand  our  little  game,  and  they  are  safe  to  ferret  him 
out  if  he  remains  in  this  country.” 

In  good  truth  the  pursuit  of  Charlie  waxed  very  hot. 
Furzedon  was  ceaseless  in  urging  on  his  emissaries  to  effect 
his  arrest.  He  thought  that,  armed  with  this  engine,  he 
might  be  able  to  carry  his  point  with  Lettie.  She  knew 
that  her  brother  was  in  sore  trouble,  but  it  would  come 
much  more  home  to  her  if  she  learnt  that  he  was  actually 
arrested.  Surely,  then,  she  would  not  hesitate  to  rescue 
her  favourite  brother  from  the  toils  of  his  creditors.  Half 
her  world  at  this  minute  believed  that  she  was  going  to 
marry  him,  Furzedon.  Let  her  only  promise  to  do  so,  and 
he  would  tear  up  all  these  liabilities  of  Charlie’s  at  once. 


SHERE  ALI  THE  DACOIT. 


239 


Surely,  when  she  heard  that  he  was  actually  imprisoned, 
that  his  future  as  a soldier  would  be  ruined  unless  he  was 
speedily  released,  she  would  not  hesitate.  But  to  put 
extreme  pressure  upon  her  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that 
he  should  lay  Charlie  Devereux  by  the  heels,  and  so  far 
his  emissaries  had  failed  to  trace  him  ever  since  his  escape 
from  the  barracks  at  York.  Still  Furzedon  looked  upon  it 
as  a mere  matter  of  time.  Devereux’s  friends  apparently 
had  no  intention  of  coming  to  his  assistance.  Not  the 
slightest  overture  had  been  made  to  Jordan  & Co.  on  his 
behalf  from  any  one,  and  this  was  a thing  which  caused 
Ralph  Furzedon  no  little  satisfaction.  People,  he  knew, 
did  not  much  care  about  paying  fifteen  hundred  pounds  to 
rescue  a young  scapegrace  from  the  results  of  his  own 
imprudence.  Still,  if  they  chose,  Furzedon  knew  very  well 
that  either  old  Tom  Devereux  or  Mrs.  Connop  could  dis- 
charge Charlie’s  liabilities.  But  one  thing  Mr.  Furzedon 
had  e-ever  thought  of,  and  that  was  his  victim  exchanging 
to  a regiment  on  foreign  service.  He  was  a man  having 
no  knowledge  of  military  matters,  and  that  Charlie  Deve- 
reux might  seek  that  way  of  extricating  himself  from  his 
difficulties  never  occurred  to  him,  so  that  when  he  read 
in  the  papers  “ — th  Rifles.  Cornet  Charles  Devereux, 
from  the  — th  Hussars,  to  be  Ensign,  vice  Rawlins,  who 
exchanges,”  came  upon  him  like  a revelation.  Like  the 
American  philosopher,  he  was  inclined  to  exclaim,  “Can 
such  things  be  ? ” Like  Shylock,  he  was  tempted  to  cry, 
“ Is  this  law  ? ” but,  pulling  himself  together,  he  remarked, 
“ My  dear  Devereux,  I am  afraid  your  joining  your  new 
regiment  will  depend  upon  what  answer  your  charming 
sister  makes  to  my  suit.”  He  had  yet  to  discover,  that, 
when  he  read  Charlie’s  name  in  the  Gazette,  that  young 
gentleman  was  on  board  a P.  and  O.  steamer,  within  a 
very  few  hours’  sail  of  Malta. 

, But  when  Furzedon  realised  that  Devereux  had  escaped 
his  disappointment  was  very  great.  It  was  not  that  he 
bore  the  slightest  animosity  to  his  old  college  chum — far 
from  it ; if  he  had  been  working  ill  to  Charlie  it  was  all  in 
furtherance  of  his  cherished  design  upon  Lettice  Devereux. 
He  was  a man  of  great  tenacity  of  purpose^  not  easily  to 


240 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


be  turned  from  the  pursuit  of  any  object  he  had  set  himself 
to  attain,  and  unscrupulous  as  to  the  means  by  which  he 
compassed  his  desire.  If  he  had  behaved  to  Charlie  after 
Ihe  manner  of  his  kind,  it  was  solely  with  the  view  of  bend- 
ing Lettice  to  his  will.  He  was  not  fond  of  losing  money, 
&ut  it  was  not  that.  The  disappointment  was  in  the  fact 
that  he  found  himself  suddenly  deprived  of  what  he  con- 
sidered the  strongest  card  in  his  hand — and  he  felt  assured 
that  except  under  pressure  of  some  kind  Miss  Devereux 
would  never  consent  to  be  his  bride.  It  was  curious  that 
when  he  first  sought  her  hand  he  admired  her,  but  was  not 
at  all  in  love  with  her,  and  now,  despite  the  knowledge 
that  he  had  not  found  favour  in  her  sight,  he  was  wild  to 
marry  her.  Such  was  the  man’s  indomitable  will  that  he 
did  not  even  yet  despair  of  bringing  that  about,  but  he  wasi 
conscious  that  a very  powerful  inducement  was  now  witi^ 
drawn  from  his  grasp. 

As  for  Charlie  Devereux,  it  had  been  with  a sad  heart 
that  he  had  steamed  out  of  Southampton  Waters.  He  knew 
that  he  ought  to  consider  himself  very  fortunate  to  have 
get  out  of  his  scrape  so  far  as  well  as  he  had — to  have 
saved  the  commission  was  of  course  a great  thing,  and  as 
Bertie  said  to  him  at  parting,  ‘‘  When  your  affairs  have 
got  square,  well,  you  must  manage  to  exchange  back  to 
us,”  and  this  comforted  Charlie  not  a little,  although  he 
knew  that  it  might  be  by  no  means  easy  to  accomplish. 
But  he  was  very  sad  for  all  that  at  leaving  his  old  com- 
rades and  the  regiment  whose  gay  jacket  he  had  donned 
so  proudly  but  a few  months  back.  Well,  he  was  young, 
India  was  all  new  to  him — and  he  must  just  make  the  best 
of  things.  He  found  his  new  comrades  a right  good  lot  of 
fellows,  and  frankly  admitted  thut  they  were  so  ; but  still 
his  sympathies  were  all  with  the  regiment  he  had  left.  A 
soldier  should  always  believe  his  own  corps  to  be  the  very 
best  in  the  service,  and  however  he  may  wander  about  the 
Army  List  he  usually  retains  a strong  feeling  for  the  regi- 
ment in  which  he  first  bore  the  colours. 

Then  again,  there  was  no  doubt  that  Charlie  found  his 
new  corps  engaged  in  a most  monotonous  and  depressing 
4uty ; for  the  suppression  of  these  dacoits  the  corps  was 


SHERE  ALI  THE  BAGOIT. 


241 


broken  up  into  small  divisions.  It  was  really  arduous 
police  duty,  from  which  there  was  no  honour  to  be  gained, 
but  of  which  there  was  a good  deal  of  roughing  it  and  weary 
marching,  and  nothing  is  more  irksome  than  the  pursuit  of 
such  light-footed  marauders,  as  the  troops  engaged  in 
stamping  out  the  embers  of  the  great  Mutiny  found  to  their 
sorrow.  Charlie’s  soldiering  at  home  had  been  of  the  sun- 
niest description.  Quartered  in  one  of  the  pleasantest 
cities  in  England,  with  excellent  hunting  close  by,  and  the 
metropolis  within  an  easy  distance,  his  experiences  had 
been  very  different  from  the  monotonous  life  he  was  now 
living ; not  that  he  cared  about  the  hard  work,  but  there 
was  a want  of  excitement  about  it  all  that  he  felt  so  terribly. 

“ Never  mind,  young  ’un,”  said  Hobson,  when  his  sub- 
altern indulged  in  a hearty  growl  at  the  dulness  of  their 
present  existence,  “ it  won’t  last  for  ever ; these  fellows 
are  either  getting  used  up  or  dispersed,  though  our  detach- 
ment has  never  had  the  good  fortune  to  come  up  with 
them  ; still,  you  know,  we  hunt  them  into  other  people’s 
hands,  and  if  you  have  any  luck  you  will  throw  in  for  a 
very  pretty  scrimmage  yet  before  it  is  all  over.  From  what 
my  scouts  tell  me,  we  have  got  a stag  royal  in  front  of  us — 
a fellow  who  was  a man  of  mark  in  the  Mutiny  times — one 
of  Tantia  Topee’s  ablest  lieutenants,  and  what  is  more,  he 
is  at  the  head  of  a pretty  strong  band ; now  that  fellow 
don’t  want  to  fight,  but  you  may  depend  upon  it  that  who- 
ever does  come  up  with  him  will  find  him  a stiff  nut  to 
crack.” 

“ By  Jove,  this  is  getting  rather  exciting,”  said  the  other  ; 
“ of  course  we  shall  beat  him.” 

“ Oh  yes,”  rejoined  Hobson,  “ we  always  do,  odds  or  no 
odds  ; all  I mean  is  it  won’t  be  a walk  over.” 

So  much  the  better,”  rejoined  Charlie,  who  like  all 
young  soldiers  was  just  a little  bloodthirsty  ; “ I am  keen 
to  see  a little  bit  of  fighting  in  earnest.” 

‘‘  Well,  if  we  chance  to  come  up  with  Shere  Ali  he  is 
safe  to  indulge  you  ; he  is  fighting  with  a rope  round  his 
neck ; for,  though  his  sins  of  the  Mutiny  time  might  be 
condoned,  yet  he  has  been  guilty  of  too  many  outrages  ia 
the  dacoit  way  since,  to  hope  for  pardon,” 


242 


SADDLE  AND  SABRa 


They  rode  on  now  for  some  time  in  silence,  each  im- 
mersed in  his  own  thoughts  ; Hobson  gravely  considering 
how  he  is  to  get  the  best  of  this  ubiquitous  robber,  Shere 
Ali,  upon  whose  trail  you  had  no  sooner  got  than  he 
speedily  vanished,  to  be  heard  of  only  again  in  some  other 
part  of  the  district.  Government  had  decreed  that  this 
man  should  be  stamped  out  like  any  other  vermin,  and  the 
ex-soubahdar  most  richly  deserved  it.  Since  he  had  proved 
false  to  his  salt  he  had  shown  all  that  tiger  ferocity  charac- 
teristic of  the  Asiatic  when  he  gets  the  upper  hand.  He 
had  been  one  of  the  most  ruthless  lieutenants  of  Tantia 
Topee,  and  since  he  had  become  a leader  of  dacoits  had 
distinguished  himself  by  the  most  unrelenting  hostility  to 
the  Feringee ; such  Englishmen,  and  it  was  whispered 
even  Englishwomen,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  into 
his  hands  had  met  with  scant  mercy.  This  man's  hands, 
it  was  known,  were  as  deeply  imbued  in  blood  as  Nana 
Sahib’s,  or  any  of  the  other  savage  chiefs  who  sprang  to 
the  front  at  the  time  of  the  great  Mutiny,  He  was  quite 
aware  that  there  was  small  hope  for  him  should  he  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  English,  and  had  vowed  to  wage  a 
war  of  implacable  hostility  against  the  v/hite  men. 

Charlie’s  thoughts,  on  the  contrary,  reverted  to  the  old 
country,  and  the  life  he  had  left  behind  him.  What  a fool 
he  had  been  ! What  a pleasant  career  was  opened  before 
him  but  for  those  miserable  gambling  debts  of  his  old 
Cambridge  days.  He  had  not  heard  so  often  from  home 
as  he  had  expected  ; and,  strangest  thing  of  all,  Lettie  had 
never  said  a word  of  her  approaching  marriage.  Still,  he 
had  also  heard  from  Mrs.  Kynaston,  and  that  lady,  though 
alluding  to  it  somewhat  vaguely,  still  quite  conveyed  the 
idea  that  the  engagement  yet  existed  ; and  Charlie,  who, 
bear  in  mind,  was  wholly  ignorant  of  the  seamy  side  of 
Ralph  Furzedon’s  life,  saw  no  reason  why,  if  Lettie  fancied 
him,  it  should  not  be.  From  Bertie  Slade  he  had  also 
heard  but  briefly,  though  satisfactorily : ‘‘  In  the  end, 
Charlie,”  said  Bertie,  “ your  affairs,  I have  no  doubt,  will 
be  thoroughly  arranged  ; but  your  father  places  implicit 
reliance  on  my  Uncle  Bob.  Now  the  Major,  you  know,  is 
g bit  of  a martineti  and  contends  that  a decent  dose  of 


SHERE  ALI  THE  DACOIT. 


243 


purgatory  should  precede  the  killing  of  the  fatted  calf  for 
the  prodigal,  ‘ There  is  nothing  like  giving  these  young 
sinners  a tolerable  spell  of  discomfort  before  you  re-estab- 
lish them  ; leave  the  boy  out  there  for  a bit,  Mr.  Devereux, 
to  enjoy  the  sport  of  dacoit-hunting,  out  of  which  there  is 
not  a laurel  to  be  gathered,  but  which  involves  plenty  of 
work  and  hard  knocks.  Besides,  it  will  make  it  all  the 
easier  to  arrange  matters  with  Jordan  & Co.  If  they  think 
you  are  ready  to  settle  all  your  son’s  liabilities  right  off 
they  will  insist  on  a settlement  in  full.  If,  on  the  contrary, 
they  see  we  are  in  no  hurry,  they  will  abate  their  terms 
considerably.  The  longer  we  wait  the  less  they  will  take. 
Let  him  stay  out  in  India  until  he  gets  his  lieutenancy,  a 
matter,  probably,  of  two  or  three  years  ; and  then,  I think, 
we  shall  find  Jordan  & Co.  likely  to  listen  to  reason.’  It 
is  good  sound  advice,  Charlie , and,  though  the  chiveying 
of  robbers  all  over  the  country  is  not  quite  our  idea  of 
active  service,  still  I can  fancy  with  what  a will  you’ll  go 
for  them  when  you  do  catch  them  ” 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  plain,  and 
were  now  apparently  entering  a wooded  country,  at  the 
back  of  which  lay  the  regular  jungle.  They  were  about  to 
dismount  from  their  horses,  when  ‘‘  crack  ” went  three  or 
four  rifles,  and  as  many  bullets  whistled  past  their  ears. 
Instantly  Hobson,  wheeling  his  horse  about  with  a cry, 
“ Ride  for  it,  Charlie,’^  set  spurs  to  his  horse.  Young 
Devereux  followed  his  example ; though,  as  he  did  so,  he 
felt  something  like  a hot  iron  just  graze  his  arm.  When 
he  had  gone  three  or  four  hundred  yards  Hobson  pulled 
up  his  horse,  and,  turning  round,  deliberately  surveyed  the 
spot  from  whence  the  fire  had  come.  “ By  Jove,  Charlie,” 
he  exclaimed,  “ we  rode  right  into  the  wasps’  nest,  and  it 
is  deuced  lucky  for  us,  I fancy,  that  we  rather  surprised 
them ; if  they  had  only  exercised  their  usual  cunning,  we 
should  have  been  either  dead  or  prisoners  by  this.”  “ See,” 
replied  Charlie,  “there  are  about  a dozen  of  the  beggars 
on  the  edge  of  the  wood  looking  at  us.”  “ Yes,”  replied 
Hobson,  “it  is  confoundedly  unlucky  that  we  should  have 
come  upon  them  as  we  did  ; they  will  know,  of  course,  that 
we  have  soldiers  with  us,  and  before  we  can  get  back  to 


244 


SADDLE  AND  SABRR. 


camp,  or  even  start,  that  fellow  Shere  Ali  will  have  had  up 
sticks  and  decamped  in  some  other  direction.  It  is  thun- 
dering unlucky.  We  really  had  a chance  to  come  up  with 
him  to-night  , but,  hullo ! young  man,  they  have  barked 
you.”  “Just  a graze,’  replied  Charlie,  “but  nothing  of 
any  consequence  , but  what  will  you  do  now  ? ” “ Oh  ! we 

must  just  get  back  to  camp  as  quick  as  we  can,  and  then 
start  in  pursuit  of  our  friends ; my  only  hope  is  that,  by 
perpetually  harrying  them,  we  shall  drive  Shere  Ali  straight 
into  the  hands  of  one  of  the  other  parties  out  in  pursuit  of 
him  and  with  that,  Hobson  put  his  horse  into  a gallop, 
and  the  pair  made  their  way  back  to  camp  as  speedily  as 
might  be. 


XXXIV. — Doings  on  the  Knavesmire. 

WE  must  now  go  back  a little  bit  in  this  history  to  see 
how  events  have  fared  v/ith  people  in  England. 
Gilbert  Slade  had  been  very  little  in  London  since  that 
famous  Derby,  which  had  utterly  broke  Devereux.  He 
had  run  up  for  a week  to  help  Charlie  with  his  advice  in 
the  arrangement  of  his  affairs,  and  he  had  also  come  up 
for  a few  days  to  see  him  off  and  bid  him  God-speed  on 
his  departure  for  India,  which  had  taken  place  about  the 
end  of  July;  otherwise  Gilbert  Slade  had  seen  nothing  of 
London  that  }^ear.  He  had  called  upon  nobody  during 
those  brief  visits.  He  was  up  strictly  on  business,  and 
had  no  wish  to  advertise  his  presence  in  the  metropolis. 
He  had  never  made  his  appearance  in  Onslow  Gardens, 
nor,  sorely  to  the  disappointment  of  Mrs.  Kynaston,  had 
she  ever  set  eyes  upon  him  since  that  brief  visit  he  paid 
her  in  May.  With  every  reason  to  believe  in  Miss  Deve- 
reux’s  engagement  with  Furzedon,  Bertie  had  thought  it 
useless  to  call  on  Mrs.  Connop.  Twice  he  had  done  so 
during  that  Derby  week,  and  upon  each  occasion  had  been 
met  with  a “ not  at  home.”  He  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  this  was  a distinct  intimation  that  they  wished 
to  see  no  more  pf  him.  While  he  was  making  up  his  mind| 


DOINGS  ON  THE  KNAVESMIRR  24S 

another  had  stepped  in  and  carried  off  the  prize.  If  it  had 
only  been  any  other  than  Furzedon  he  could  have  borne  it 
better,  but  that,  even  with  all  his  money,  Miss  Devereux 
could  marry  such  a man  as  that  was  incomprehensible  in 
Bertie’s  eyes ; but  it  was  all  over  now,  and  for  the  pre- 
sent, as  men  do  under  such  circumstances,  Gilbert  Slade 
thoroughly  realised  the  hollowness  of  London  society. 
One  morning  in  September,  shortly  before  the  Doncaster 
races,  Bertie  received  a letter  from  his  uncle  Norman,  in 
which  he  said,  “ 1 shall  be  at  Ycrk  this  week  for  a couple 
of  nights  I shall  stay  at  the  ‘ Black  Swan,’  and  shall 
throw  myself  upon  your  hospitality  for  dinner ; your  regi- 
ment has  the  reputation  of  doing  that  sort  of  thing  rather 
well,  and  I have  no  doubt  you  can  make  up  a rubber  for 
me  afterwards.  An  hotel  coffee-room  is  rather  a dull  place 
to  put  in  on  an  evening  alone.” 

“Give  Uncle  Norman  a dinner ! I should  rather  think 
so,”  muttered  Bertie  to  himself  on  reading  this  note,  “ I 
would  put  him  up  for  a whole  week,  and  be  only  too  glad 
to  do  so ; but  I am  puzzled  as  to  what  brings  him  to  York 
just  now.  Uncle  Norman  at  York  during  the  races  is 
natural  enough,  but  Uncle  Norman  at  York  the  second 
week  in  September  is  a mystery.”  However,  whatever 
might  be  Norman  Slade’s  object  in  turning  up  in  the  great 
city  of  the  north,  his  nephew  took  care  that  there  should 
be  a note  for  him  at  the  “ Black  Swan,”  saying  that  he 
should  be  only  too  glad  to  see  him  every  day  during  his 
stay ; and  that  if  it  would  be  the  slightest  convenience  he 
could  put  him  up  very  comfortably  to  boot.  In  due  course 
Norman  Slade  turned  up  at  the  mess  of  the  — th  Hus- 
sars, and  was  regarded  with  due  reverence  by  the  younger 
members  of  that  sporting  regiment  as  a sort  of  incarnation 
of  all  Turf  knowledge,  and  a man  who,  if  he  chose,  could 
make  wondrous  revelations  on  the  subject  of  races  past, 
present,  and  to  come.  When  he  chose,  as  we  know, 
Norman  could  make  himself  extremely  pleasant,  and  upon 
this  occasion  he  won  golden  opinions.  The  Colonel,  in 
particular,  was  enchanted  with  his  guest,  who  manifested 
the  greatest  possible  interest  in  the  regiment.  One  thing 
especially  was  he  curious  in,  and  that  was,  would  he  have 


SADBLE  AND  SABRB. 


246 

an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  regiment  out  ? Did  they  nol 
exercise  on  the  Knavesmire  in  the  early  mornings  at  times  ? 

‘‘Yes,”  replied  the  Colonel,  “but  we  are  out  so  very 
early — during  this  hot  weather  we  begin  at  seven,  and  so 
get  our  drill  over  before  the  heat  of  the  day.” 

Then,”  rejoined  Norman,  “ if  I am  on  the  Knavesmire 
sharp  seven,  I shall  be  in  time  to  see  your  fellows  exercise.” 
In  plenty  of  time,  Mr  Slade,”  said  the  Colonel; 
“ indeed,  a quarter  past  will  be  quite  time  enough.  If  you 
will  allow  me  I will  have  a horse  there  all  ready  for  you.” 

“ You  are  very  good,”  rejoined  Norman,  “ but  I have  no 
doubt  Bertie  can  manage  all  that  for  me  ” — to  which 
speech  Bertie  returned  a somewhat  bewildered  assent. 

“ Very  good,  then,”  replied  the  Colonel;  “and  now,  Mr. 
Slade,  if  you  won’t  take  any  more  wine,  what  do  you  say 
to  a rubber  and  a cigar  ? ” 

“ I should  like  it  of  all  things,”  replied  the  other,  rising. 
Norman  Slade,  indeed,  had  astonished  Her  Majesty’s  — ^th 
Hussars  not  a little.  Although  Bertie  had  given  a hint  to 
the  chief  and  some  of  his  own  immediate  chums  that  his 
uncle  was  not  given  to  racing  talk,  they  could  not  believe 
that  a man  occupied  in  such  a leading  position  of  the  Turf 
should  absolutely  abstain  from  the  slightest  allusion  to 
that  sport,  either  in  the  past  or  in  the  present ; while 
Bertie  on  his  part  was  just  as  much  astonished  at  the 
extraordinary  interest  his  uncle  had  suddenly  developed 
in  military  matters.  “ I can  understand,”  said  Bertie,  to 
one  of  his  chums,  “ his  not  talking  Turf — he  never  does — 
I can  understand  his  preferring  a dinner  with  us  and  a 
rubber  afterwards  to  the  solitude  of  the  * Black  Swan,’  but 
his  wanting  to  see  the  regiment  out  beats  me  altogether. 
I never  knew  my  uncle  before  take  the  faintest  interest  in 
soldiering,  and  should  have  just  as  soon  thought  of  asking 
him  to  the  regimental  ball  as  to  a regimental  field-day.” 
However,  after  a couple  of  partis  at  whist,  Norman  Slade 
rose  to  take  his  departure,  simply  remarking,  “ These 
early  hours  in  the  morning.  Colonel,  require  several  earlier 
hours  at  night,”  and  then,  thanking  his  host  for  a very 
pleasant  evening,  Norman  Slade  stepped  into  his  fly  and 
we^  driven  back  to  his  hoteh 


DOINGS  ON  THE  KNAVESMIRE. 


247 


The  morning  came,  and  seven  o’clock  saw  the  — th 
Hussars  filing  through  the  gate  that  led  on  to  the  Knaves- 
mire;  that  passed,  they  formed  up,  and  at  once  commenced 
the  morning’s  drill.  Bertie’s  servant  with  a horse  was 
left  at  the  gate,  with  instructions  to  await  the  arrival  of 
Mr.  Slade,  who  was  to  drive  out  from  York  in  a fly.  Soon 
the  Hussars  were  skirmishing,  charging,  and  going  through 
all  manner  of  evolutions,  and  more  than  once  both  the 
Colonel’s  and  Bertie’s  eyes  wandered  about  in  search  of 
their  pleasant  guest  of  the  night  before.  But  there  was 
not  a sign  of  Norman  Slade,  and  as  they  once  more  filed 
through  the  gate — their  morning’s  work  over — on  their  way 
back  to  barracks,  Bertie’s  servant  assured  them  that  the 
gentleman  had  never  put  in  an  appearance.  It  was  incom- 
prehensible. It  seemed  impossible  that  there  could  have 
been  any  mistake — and  yet  what  could  have  become  of 
Norman  Slade  ? He  was,  apparently,  most  anxious  last 
night  to  see  the  regiment  out  in  the  morning,  and  yet, 
although  a horse  had  been  brought  there  expressly  for 
him,  although  he  had  been  told  the  exact  time  and  every- 
thing else,  he  had  never  put  in  an  appearance;  neither  the 
Colonel  nor  Bertie  could  perceive  how  it  was  possible  that 
a mistake  could  have  occurred.  In  the  course  of  the 
morning  a note  was  brought  to  Bertie  in  which  his  uncle 
said  that  he  was  unfortunately  prevented  coming  out  to 
the  Knavesmire  that  morning,  and,  more  unlucky  still,  that 
business  required  him  to  leave  York  that  morning  for  the 
north  by  the  eleven  train.  “ Make  my  apologies  to  the 
Colonel  for  not  turning  up  this  morning,  and,  if  you  can, 
meet  me  at  the  station  a little  before  the  train  starts.”  It 
was  all  very  mysterious ; however,  Bertie  at  once  deter- 
mined that  there  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done,  and  that 
was  to  meet  his  uncle  as  suggested,  and  say  good-bye  to 
him. 

At  a quarter  before  eleven  Bertie  Slade  made  his 
appearance  at  the  York  station,  where  he  found  his  uncle 
already  pacing  up  and  down  the  platform.  “ Why,  what 
on  earth  became  of  you.  Uncle  Norman,  this  morning  ? we 
were  all  on  the  look-out  for  you  on  the  Knavesmire,  and 
never  saw  you,”  Norman  s eyes  twinkled  at  his  nephew’s 


BABBLE  AN®  SABllE. 


248 

Speech.  No,”  he  said^  “ you  were  a little  late  for  me.  1 
had  gone  home  before  you  came.** 

What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ? **  ejaculated  the  other 
speaker.  “ I mean  this,**  said  Norman.  “ I had  ascer- 
tained that  you  fellows  were  given  to  early  drills  on  the 
Knavesmire,  and  I had  the  best  of  all  possible  reasons  for 
wishing  to  know  exactly  when  you  would  be  there.** 

“ I don’t  understand,**  said  Bertie. 

“ Well,  my  dear  boy,  I tried  Belisarim  for  the  Leger  this 
mornings  and  I didn’t  want  the  whole  of  Her  Majesty’s 
— th  Hussars  to  be  present  at  the  trial — do  you  understand 
BOW,  Bertie  ? ” Bertie’s  answer  was  simply  a roar  of 
laughter,  and  then  he  exclaimed,  “Sold  us  all,  by  Jove ! I 
hope  it  was  satisfactory  ? ” 

“ I will  say  no  more,  but  it  is  good  enough  for  you  to 
start  in  a pony  with  me — they  got  at  the  man  last  time, 
but  I will  take  deuced  good  care  that  they  don’t  this.” 
“Yes,  I heard  something  about  this  in  London,  and, 
what  is  more,  happened  to  get  at  the  names  of  two  of  the 
principal  winners  over  the  defeat  of  Belisarius.*' 

“ What  are  their  names  ? ” inquired  Slade  sharply. 
“Major  Kynaston  and  a Mr.  Furzedon — both  men  I 
have  met  and  don’t  think  much  of.  Didn’t  you  hear  a 
rumour  that  Bill  Smith  was  given  a drugged  glass  of  wine 
in  the  Paddock  after  he  got  up  ? ” 

“ Hear  the  rumour  !”  exclaimed  Norman  Slade  excitedly. 
“ I saw  it  done,  and,  though  I don’t  know  him,  could  swear 
to  the  man  that  gave  it.  I know  all  about  Kynaston  ; he 
is  rather  a shy  card,  but  I don’t  think  that  he  will  go  the 
length  of  hocussing  a jockey ; besides,  I will  swear  he  was 
not  the  man  who  handed  the  glass  to  Bill.  As  for  Fur- 
zedon, I never  saw  him — but  here  is  my  train — we  must 
have  some  more  talk  about  this  — mind  you  come  to 
Doncaster.” 

“ All  right,  uncle,  I will  come  up  to  see  Belisarius  have 
another  shy.  Furzedon  will  most  likely  be  there,  and,  if 
so,  I will  point  him  out  to  you.” 

“ Do,”  said  Norman,  “ and  if  I can  work  the  thing  out  I 
wfl.1  bring  the  whole  case  before  the  Jockey  Club.  Once 
more,  good-bye/*  and  the  two  cordially  shook  hands. 


DOINGS  ON  THE  KNAVESMIRE. 


Norman  Slade  as  he  sped  rapidly  back  to  Bellaton  Wold 
pondered  a good  over  what  Bertie  had  just  told  him.  True, 
he  had  seen  that  fatal  glass  given  to  Bill  Smith  in  the  Pad- 
dock  at  Epsom ; had  he  not  interfered  and  insisted  upon 
drinking  a glass  out  of  the  same  bottle  ? That  wine 
was  not  drugged,  or  he  also  must  have  felt  the  effects  of  it, 
and,  if  Smith  in  accordance  with  his  besetting  weakness 
had  been  unable  to  withstand  the  temptation  of  a glass  too 
much,  then  there  would  be  no  call  for  the  interference  of 
the  Jockey  Club  in  the  matter.  An  intemperate  man  had 
failed  to  keep  sober  in  order  to  ride  his  own  horse  in  the 
great  race  of  the  year,  and  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 
It  was  of  more  moment  to  him,  Bill  Smith,  than  any  one, 
and  as  for  the  misguided  public  who  chose  to  pin  their 
faith  on  a drunken  jockey  trainer  they  had  only  themselves 
to  blame  for  their  exceeding  folly. 

This  time  Norman  Slade  and  Sir  Ronald  had  determined 
not  to  let  the  bibulous  Bill  out  of  their  guardianship.  They 
knew  from  bitter  experience  that  when  once  he  had  broken 
out  and  given  way  to  drink  he  got  beyond  all  control,  but 
that  if  carefully  watched  over  from  the  first  it  was  possible 
to  restrain  him.  It  was  during  that  unlucky  week  when 
neither  Norman  Slade  nor  Sir  Ronald  had  been  able  to 
keep  guard  over  him  that  Bill  Smith  got  so  completely  out 
of  hand  before  Epsom,  but  this  time  there  had  been  no 
relaxation  of  vigilance.  Norman  Slade  had  taken  up  his 
abode  at  Bellaton  immediately  after  Goodwood,  and  Sir 
Ronald  had  also  been  a frequent  visitor.  Bill  Smith  had 
never  been  left  by  himself  for  some  weeks  past,  and,  though 
there  was  no  such  golden  harvest  to  be  reaped  at  Don- 
caster as  might  have  been  gathered  at  Epsom,  still  both 
Slade  and  the  baronet  had  managed  to  back  Belisarius  for 
the  St.  Leger  to  win  themselves  a nice  stake,  although  the 
racing  fraternity  knew,  that,  as  far  as  Smith’s  horse  went, 
the  Derby  running  was  not  to  be  relied  on,  yet  the  general 
public  only  knew  that  Belisarius  had  been  well  beaten  in 
the  big  race.  Rumours  of  course  there  were  that  his  rider 
had  been  drunk,  but  then  excuses  were  always  made  for  a 
prominent  favourite  when  he  failed  to  realise  his  expecta- 
and  so,  though  the  bookmakers  would  ofier  so 


SADDLE  ANL  SABRE, 


250 

price  against  the  north-country  horse,  still,  in  consequence 
of  the  public  not  fancying  him,  the  odds  against  him  were 
larger  than  might  have  been  expected. 

Another  thing  too  that  still  further  expanded  the  price 
at  which  Belisarius  stood  for  the  great  Doncaster  race  was 
due  in  part  to  accident,  and  in  part  to  a piece  of  Turf 
strategy  suggested  by  Norman  Slade.  Fearing  that  the 
horse-watchers  who  infested  Bellaton  Wold  should  get 
knowledge  of  their  proceedings,  Slade  had  suggested  that 
the  trial  of  Belisarius  just  previous  to  the  St.  Leger  should 
take  place  at  York,  and  this  manoeuvre  had  been  attended 
with  complete  success.  Belisarius  had  been  tried  over  the 
Knavesmire,  and  acquitted  himself  to  the  entire  satisfac- 
tion of  all  connected  with  him,  and,  what  is  more,  without 
any  of  the  few  spectators  being  a bit  the  wiser,  they  indeed 
being  unaware  of  what  horses  they  were ; whilst  there 
occurred  another  thing  which  Slade  had  not  foreseen, 
namely,  that  the  horse-watchers  of  Bellaton  Wold  tele- 
graphed to  their  employers  that  Belisarius  had  not  left  his 
stable,  which  to  the  racing  world  meant  that  there  was 
something  amiss  with  him.  When  a horse  is  stopped  in 
his  work  a week  before  a big  engagement  it  is  usually  the 
presage  of  his  defeat,  and  consequently  it  was  not  surpris- 
ing that  the  bookmakers  extended  their  offers  against  Beli- 
sarius. Flushed  by  the  successful  issue  of  the  trial,  Slade 
and  Sir  Ronald  took  this  opportunity  of  again  backing  the 
horse  on  more  favourable  terms,  the  Baronet  in  particular 
laying  out  a considerable  sum  of  money  to — as  he  said — 
recoup  him  for  his  Epsom  disappointment ; and  a few 
days  later  saw  the  little  coterie  on  the  Doncaster  Town 
Moor,  trusting  to  see  Belisarius  redeem  his  laurels. 

The  Wednesday  dedicated  to  the  great  race  of  the  North 
came  at  last — saw  Bertie  Slade  and  several  of  his  brother 
officers  all  bound  for  Doncaster.  “ If  you  fellows  want  to 
bet,”  said  Bertie,  “ you  had  better  wait  till  I have  seen  my 
uncle,  and,  if  he  says  Belisarius  and  his  jockey  are  all 
right,  I think  you  will  find  him  good  enough  to  have  a flutter 
on!”  and  it  was  accordingly  settled  amongst  that  little 
band  of  Hussars,  that,  if  Norman  Slade  spoke  favourably, 
they  should  all  indulge  in  a joint  plunge  upon  that  noble 


DOINGS  ON  THE  KNAVESMIRB. 


251 


animal.  Bertie,  indeed,  had  been  unable  during  the  rail- 
way journey  to  resist  explaining  the  cause  of  his  uncle  Nor- 
man’s sudden  interest  in  cavalry  manoeuvres.  “ Couldn’t 
make  it  out  at  all,”  said  Bertie ; “ his  military  knowledge 
goes  no  further  than  just  knowing  a horse-soldier  from  an 
infantry  man  ” — and  then  Bertie  told  his  story — which 
elicited  roars  of  laughter.  Arrived  at  the  course,  Bertie 
made  his  way  straight  to  the  Paddock,  where,  as  he  rightly 
conjectured,  he  found  his  uncle. 

“ You  will  have  a good  run  for  your  money  to-day,”  said 
Norman,  as  they  shook  hands;  “both  horse  and  man  are 
thoroughly  fit,  and  I think  you  will  see  that  the  Two 
Thousand  form  was  right,  and  not  the  Derby.” 

“All  right  1 Excuse  me.  I’ll  be  back  in  a minute,  but  I 
promised  to  let  some  of  our  fellows  know  if  you  fancied 
Belisarius.” 

“Tell  them  I do,”  rejoined  Norman  curtly. 

Bertie  hurried  across  the  Paddock,  and  told  that  little 
syndicate  that  had  been  formed  in  the  train  that  they 
might  commence  operations  at  once ; that  his  uncle 
thought  Belisarius  would  about  win ; that  it  was  the 
jockey  not  the  horse  who  lost  the  race  at  Epsom,  and  that 
this  time  Bill  Smith  was  sober  as  the  traditional  judge. 
As  Bertie  made  his  way  back  again  he  met  Furzedon,  who 
would  have  fain  stopped  and  spoken,  but  Bertie  passed 
him  with  a nonchalant  nod,  and  rejoined  his  uncle. 

“ I told  you  Furzedon  would  be  at  Doncaster.  I have 
just  met  him.  I will  point  him  out  to  you  presently.” 

“ Ah,  do,”  replied  Norman  Slade.  “ I should  like  to 
see  him.  Bill  Smith  still  sticks  to  it  that  last  glass  of  wine 
he  had  was  drugged.  He  admits  he  was  the  worse  for 
liquor,  but  declares  that  he  was  hocussed  to  boot.  Now,  I 
know  he  was  drunk  and  that  the  wine  in  that  bottle  was 
not  doctored,  for  I drank  a glass  of  it.  Of  course  it  does 
not  follow  that  there  was  not  something  dropped  into 
Smith’s  glass,  but  I cannot  prove  it.” 

“ Surely  some  of  the  gang  with  the  giver  of  that  last 
glass  were  privy  to  it  if  it  was  so  ? ” 

No  doubt,”  said  Norman  ; “ but  I don’t  know  how  to 
get  at  them.” 


2$2 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Whenever  a lot  of  scoundrels  have  been  engaged  in  a 
transaction  of  this  sort  one  of  them  is  safe  to  turn  Queen’s 
evidence,”  said  Bertie.  ‘‘  The  story  is  safe  to  come  to 
your  ears  before  long  * but  here  comes  our  man.  That’s 
Furzedon,  Uncle  Norman.” 

‘‘By  Heavens,  the  very  fellow;  that’s  the  man  who 
handed  Bill  Smith  the  glass  of  wine  in  the  Epsom  pad- 
dock  ” 

“ And  was  one  of  tbs  largest  winners  over  the  defeat  of 
Belisarius,”  commented  Bertie. 


XXXV.— The  St.  Leger. 

SPURRED  on  by  his  hatred  of  Furzedon,  Mr.  Prance 
has  been  untiring  in  his  endeavours  to  unravel  the 
whole  history  of  Belisarius’s  defeat  at  Epsom  ; or,  to  speak 
more  properly,  of  the  drugging  of  Bill  Smith,  which  led  to 
it.  The  story  was  current  enough  amongst  the  lower 
order  of  professional  racing-men ; and  Prance  had,  with 
some  little  trouble,  got  at  the  names  of  the  very  men  who 
had  been  employed  to  ply  the  reckless  jockey  with  liquor. 
It  was  not  difficult  to  scrape  an  acquaintance  with  them, 
and  Prance  speedily  ascertained  that  they  conceived  them- 
selves to  have  been  by  no  means  liberally  dealt  with  by 
Furzedon,  and  were  quite  willing  to  tell  all  they  knew  to 
any  one  who  would  make  it  worth  their  while.  This  ques- 
tion of  money,  however,  put  an  insurmountable  bar  to 
further  investigation  for  the  present,  although  Mr.  Prance 
anticipated  no  difficulty  about  procuring  the  requisite  funds 
when  he  should  deem  it  expedient  to  launch  his  thunder- 
bolt against  the  object  of  his  detestation.  He  was  quite 
aware  that  he  must  get  hold  of  somebody  of  standing  and 
position  to  bring  forward  such  a charge  as  this.  No  one 
would  even  listen  to  such  a story  from  the  lips  of  a name- 
less vagrant  like  himself ; and  he  thought  that  whoever  he 
induced  to  take  up  the  case  would  make  no  demur  to  find- 


THE  ST.  LEGER. 


ing  the  necesfrary  funds  to  unloose  the  tongues  of  his 
witnesses.  He  had,  in  the  first  instance,  fixed  .upon  Sir 
Ronald  Radcliffe  as  the  instrument  of  his  vengeance.  He 
knew  that  the  Baronet  had  lost  a considerable  sum  by  the 
overthrow  of  Belisarius ; and  his  status  as  a racing-man 
made  him  a very  fit  person  to  take  up  the  case.  He  had 
found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  access  to  Sir  Ronald  ; for, 
like  Major  Kynaston,  that  sporting  gentleman  was  accus- 
tomed to  receive  strange  visitors ; but  the  interview  had 
proved  by  no  means  satisfactory. 

“ I don’t  believe  your  story,”  rejoined  the  philosophical 
and  somewhat  cynical  Baronet.  “You  say  you  have 
witnesses  who  demand  to  be  paid  before  they  will  testify. 
As  Shakespeare  hath  it,  ‘that  makes  against  you;’  but, 
secondly,  we’ll  suppose  it  all  true,  what  the  devil  does  it 
all  matter  to  me  ? The  race  was  lost,  and  our  money  has 
been  paid.  Whether  Bill  Smith  was  drunk,  or  drugged, 
or  both,  makes  but  little  difference.  Pooh ! my  good 
fellow.  I’m  not  going  to  trouble  myself  with  unearthing  a 
dead  scandal  like  this.  Your  best  chance  is  to  try  and 
drive  a bargain  with  a sporting  newspaper  ; it  might  suit 
them  to  buy  it  all  up  as  copy  for  the  dead  season,  now  fast 
approaching.  That  will  do,  my  good  fellow  I Your  nar- 
rative has  no  interest  for  me.”  Mr.  Prance  walked  down 
the  staircase  of  Sir  Ronald’s  house  considerably  depressed 
in  spirits.  He  had  counted  confidently  on  the  Baronet  at 
once  taking  up  the  case  hotly.  He  forgot  that  Sir  Ronald 
had  no  personal  vengeance  to  gratify,  and  that  the  race 
was,  as  he  says,  a thing  of  the  irrevocable  past,  the  which 
there  was  no  undoing;  and  now  Mr.  Prance  was  non- 
plussed to  whom  to  apply.  He  knew  Norman  Slade  by 
name;  but  Norman  was  a man  who  was  seldom  a pro- 
minent figure  on  a racecourse.  He  passed  most  of  his 
time  in  the  Paddock,  and  was  given  to  looking  on  at  a raco 
from  the  trainers’  stand — inner  precincts  which  impecunh 
ous  vagabonds  like  Prance  are  not  privileged  to  enter.  He 
had  had  a tolerably  successful  year,  and,  in  consequence, 
was  in  possession  of  more  money  than  usual ; still  it  was  a 
firm  part  of  his  scheme  that  his  vengeance  should  be 
parried  out  at  some  one  eise’s  expense ; and  when  Mr* 


254 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Prance  arrived  at  Doncaster  he  by  no  means  saw  his  way 
{owards  this. 

He  was  wandering  vaguely  down  the  course,  trying  to 
inake  up  his  mind  as  to  whether  he  should  invest  his  stake 
on  Belisarius,  whom  two  or  three  of  his  fraternity  had 
informed  him  would  be  sure  to  reverse  the  Epsom  running. 
More  prudent,  he  thought  to  wait  till  he  saw  Bill  Smith 
iu  the  saddle  and  could  assure  himself  that  the  jockey  was 
fit  to  ride,  when  suddenly  his  eye  fell  on  a cardboard 
ticket  close  to  his  feet.  Mr.  Prance  at  once  pounced  on 
it — it  was  probably,  he  thought,  an  admission  to  the 
Stand ; he  was  not  far  wrong,  but  instead  of  the  Stand  it 
was  a ticket  for  the  Paddock.  Most  racing-men  are  more 
or  less  superstitious,  and  Prance  hailed  this  bit  of  luck  as 
a good  augury,  and  without  more  ado  made  his  way  to 
that  privileged  enclosure  which  of  late  years  he  had  never 
penetrated.  It  was  the  very  thing  he  wanted.  He  would 
doubtless  see  Bill  Smith  inside,  as  well  as  the  horse,  and 
be  able  to  judge  for  himself  of  their  condition.  Once  in- 
side the  Paddock  Prance  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  what 
he  wanted.  Belisarius  was  walking  up  and  down,  and 
round  him  were  gathered  a little  knot,  two  of  whom  Prance 
at  once  recognised.  One  was  the  famous  north-country 
jockey,  and  upon  this  occasion  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  he  was  in  a very  different  state  from  that  in  which  he 
had  appeared  at  Epsom  ; the  other  was  Sir  Ronald  Rad- 
cliffe ; the  remainder  of  the  group  were  unknown  to 
Prance,  though  the  keen,  dark,  saturnine  features  of  Nor- 
man Slade  were  not  easy  to  forget  by  any  one  who  had 
once  seen  them.  Mr.  Prance’s  mind  was  at  once  made  up 
upon  one  point,  to  wit,  that  Belisarius  was  worth  backing 
to-day ; but,  as  the  saddling-bell  had  not  yet  rung,  there 
was  plenty  of  time  for  that,  and  Mr.  Prance  took  advan- 
tage of  his  good  fortune  to  inquire  the  names  of  such  nota- 
bilities as  were  unknown  to  him  by  sight ; most  especially 
anxious,  for  example,  to  know  all  those  in  that  group  of 
which  Bill  Smith  was  the  centre.  There  were  plenty  of 
people  there  who  could  tell  him  who  Norman  Slade  was, 
and  Prance  became  at  once  deeply  interested  in  that 
gentleman.  Could  this  be  the  man  he  was  looking  for  ? 


THE  ST.  LEGER. 


2SS 


“It  is  2 stern,  unforgiving  face,’*  thought  Prance ; a man 
little  likely  to  forgive  those  who  had  done  aught  to  his 
detriment.”  He  never  recollected  having  seen  him  before, 

' but  he  had  heard  him  spoken  of ; he  knew  that  he  was  a 
great  supporter  of  Bill  Smith,  and  he  further  knew  that  he 
was  a loser  over  the  Derby.  Perhaps  he  could  induce 
this  Mr.  Slade  to  take  up  the  case  against  Furzedon.  At 
all  events  he  must  try,  for  he  could  think  of  no  one  else 
now  that  Sir  Ronald  had  failed  him.  However,  it  would 
be  time  enough  to  think  of  all  this  after  the  race.  If  there 
should  be  no  opportunity,  as  was  most  likely,  of  telling 
Mr.  Slade  the  whole  story  at  Doncaster,  he  would  doubt- 
less be  enabled  to  obtain  access  to  him  in  London.  At 
all  events,  he  would  find  out  where  he  lived,  and  whether 
he  was  willing  to  help  him  wreak  his  vengeance  on  Furze- 
don. Mr.  Prance  was  a man  of  decision  ; he  dashed  out 
of  the  Paddock,  and,  making  his  way  to  the  outer  ring,  at 
once  made  his  investment  on  Belisarius,  and  then  sought 
some  coign  of  vantage  from  which  to  see  the  race.  The 
St.  Leger  of  that  year  only  proved  to  the  backers  of  Beli- 
sarius how  their  money  had  been  thrown  away  at  Epsom, 
and  the  story  of  the  race  may  be  told  in  very  few  words. 
Bill  Smith  on  his  favourite  battle-ground,  and  upon  this 
occasion  strictly  sober,  occupied  a prominent  position  all 
the  way  up  to  the  Red  House  turn,  and  no  sooner  was  he 
round  that  than  he  took  his  horse  to  the  front,  was  never 
again  reached,  and  landed  Belisarius  a winner  by  good 
three  lengths. 

“ Ah  ! ” exclaimed  Mr.  Prance,  as  he  jumped  off  the 
rough  stand,  for  the  occupation  of  a foot-hold  on  which  he 
had  been  mulcted  of  the  sum  of  one  shilling,  “ If  that 
don’t  make  Sir  Ronald  and  Mr.  Slade  feel  heavenly,  I 
don’t  know  what  will.  When  they  think  of  all  the  money 
that  ought  to  have  gone  into  their  pockets  last  May,  and 
remember  that  it  went  out  instead,  they  must  surely  feel 
rather  wolfish  about  it,  and  be  hungry  to  punish  the  man 
who  hocussed  their  jockey.  Mr.  Slade,  at  all  events,  don’t 
look  one  of  the  forgiving  sort.” 

No  sooner  had  he  been  paid  his  winnings  than  Prance 
wee  more  repaired  to  the  Paddock  with  the  object  ^ 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


256 

getting  speech  with  Norman  Slade,  which  he  thought,  the 
big  race  being  satisfactorily  got  through  with,  would  be 
now  easy  to  accomplish.  The  racecourse,  as  Mr.  Punch 
once  observed  of  the  hunting  field,  “ brings  people  together 
who  would  not  otherwise  meety'"  and  certainly  affords  op- 
portunity to  such  men  as  Prance  to  address  their  betters 
if  they  can  only  come  across  them,  aud  this  the  fortunate 
finding  of  the  Paddock  ticket  had  placed  within  that 
worthy’s  power.  Bill  Smith’s  triumph  had  been  received 
wUk  very  moderate  cheering,  and  not  with  that  “ York, 
shire  roar  ” with  which  the  big  county  was  won’t  to  pro- 
claim the  victory  of  the  North  over  the  South  country 
horses.  Too  many  of  the  Tykes  had  suffered  over  the 
Epsom  business  to  feel  much  enthusiasm  about  the  success 
of  Belisarius  on  the  Town  Moor,  and  Bill  Smith  was  not 
a little  nettled  at  missing  the  ovation  which  usually  greeted 
his  winning  the  St.  Leger.  Even  the  impassive  Sir  Ronald 
could  not  suppress  a groan  as  he  thought  of  that  lost 
opportunity  on  Epsom  Downs. 

The  baronet,  however,  having  congratulated  Bill  Smith 
on  his  victory,  speedily  returned  to  the  Grand  Stand  to 
chat  over  the  race  with  his  friends,  and  speculate  on  the 
following  events,  and  this  gave  Prance  the  opening  he 
wanted.  He  did  not  wish  to  speak  before  Sir  Ronald, 
but  no  sooner  was  the  baronet’s  back  turned  than  he 
walked  up  to  Norman,  and  touching  his  hat  said,  “ Can  I 
have  a word  with  you,  Mr.  Slade  ? ” 

Accustomed  to  be  addressed  on  a racecourse  not  unfre- 
quently  by  persons  of  whom  he  had  no  knowledge,  Nor- 
man replied  curtly,  “ All  right,  what  is  it  ? ” 

“ You  saw  what  won  to-day,  sir.  You  know  what  ought 
to  have  won  at  Epsom.” 

‘‘  If  you  have  merely  to  tell  me  that  Belisarius  ought  to 
have  won  the  Derby,  but  didn’t,  because  his  jockey  was 
drunk,  you  are  a little  behind-hand  with  a well-knowti 
story.  All  the  world’s  known  that  for  some  time.” 

“Bill  Smith  was  more  than  drunk,  sir  ; he  was  drugged. 
You  know  the  man  that  did  it,  for  I’m  told  you  saw  it 
done.” 

I give  that  last  glass  of  wine  in  the  Padd^oek 


THE  ST.  LEGER. 


257 


— if  you  mean  that.  I suspected  it  might  be  so,  and  I 
insisted  on  having  a glass  out  of  the  same  bottle.  I know 
it  was  not  changed,  for  I never  took  my  eye  off  it — that 
wine  was  not  drugged  ! 

“ Not  the  wine  you  drank,  sir,  but  the  wine  Bill  Smith 
drank  was  ! They  didn’t  change  the  bottle,  but  they  did 
the  glass,” 

‘‘  You  know  that  ? You  can  prove  what  you  assert  ? ” 

“ 1 can  prove  it,  sir,”  replied  Prance.  “ This  Furzedon 
was  one  of  the  heaviest  layers  against  Belisarius  for  the 
Derby.  I can  bring  you  th^  men  he  employed  to  make 
Smith  drunk,  but  at  the  last  moment  his  nerve  failed  him, 
and  he  was  afraid  that  would  not  be  sufficient  to  prevent 
the  horse  winning.  He  ordered  them  to  drug  him  besides, 
but  they  were  afraid  to  do  that,  and  so  at  the  last  moment 
he  was  compelled  to  do  the  hocussing  himself.  Of  course 
they  were  with  him,  and  helped  him,  and  saw  the  phial 
emptied  into  the  glass.  Surely,  sir,  such  a robbery  as  this 
ought  to  be  exposed  ! ” 

A queer  smile  flitted  around  Slade’s  mouth  as  he  replied, 
“ And  these  friends  of  yours  would  be  willing  to  give  evi- 
dence confirmatory  of  all  this,  I presume  ? ” 

“ Certainly  they  would,  if  they  thought  there  was  any 
probability  of  the  case  being  taken  up  ; but  they  are  poor 
men,  Mr.  Slade.” 

“ Ah  ! and  don’t  speak  unless  they  are  paid  for  it,”  inter- 
rupted Norman,  sharply.  “ Now,  sir!  first  of  all,  what’s 
your  name  ? and  secondly,  why  do  you  come  to  me  at  this 
time  of  day  ? ” 

To  begin  with,  my  name  is  Prance,  and  secondly,  it 
took  me  a long  time  to  collect  the  proofs  of  what  I only 
suspected.” 

“ Good  1 ” rejoined  Slade,  “ it  looks  a little  to  me  as  if 
you  and  your  confederates,  having  made  all  that  you  pos- 
sibly could  out  of  a successful  conspiracy,  are  now  exceed- 
ingly anxious  to  put  the  coping-stone  on  your  villany  by 
selling  your  employer.” 

“ I give  you  my  word,  Mr.  Slade,  that  I had  nothing  to 
do  with  it,  and  knew  nothing  about  what  was  being  done 
till  after  the  race,”  rejoined  Prance,  earnestly. 


2$S 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


‘‘Then  what  the  deuce  is  your  object  in  coming  to  me  ? ” 
said  Norman,  sharply. 

For  a second  Prance  hesitated,  then,  as  an  almost 
demoniacal  expression  spread  across  his  countenance,  he 
hissed  between  his  teeth : 

“ I hate  Furzedon  ! 

Slade  looked  at  him  for  a moment,  and  then  exclaimed, 
almost  involuntarily,  “ By  heaven,  he  is  speaking  the  truth 
now.” 

“ Yes  1 ” continued  Prance,  in  a voice  hoarse  with  pas- 
sion, “ you  gentlemen  think  that  we  poor  devils  care  for 
nothing  but  money ; but  there’s  one  thing  that  comes  far 
before  money  to  most  men — revenge  ! Furzedon  has 
ruined  me  1 struck  me  ! desolated  my  home  ! and  for  years 
I have  lived  only  to  be  revenged  upon  him  ! ” 

“That  will  do  for  the  present,”  replied  Slade,  quietly; 
“ if  you  can  prove  what  you  say,  and  I take  this  case  up, 
I think,  socially  speaking,  you  will  about  attain  your  end.” 

“ Yes,”  replied  Prance,  “ and  I have  a good  deal  more 
to  tell  you  about  him  than  that.  He  passes  in  the  world 
as  a wealthy,  well-to-do  gentleman  ; in  reality  he  is  only  a 
money-lender.” 

“ Give  me  your  address,”  rejoined  Slade,  and  as  he 
spoke,  Norman  took  his  betting-book  from  his  pocket,  and 
carefully  noted  down  Mr.  Prance’s  town  residence.  “ I 
have  no  time  to  go  into  the  matter  here,  but  I will  write  to 
you  in  London,  and  if  I am  satisfied  with  the  proofs  you 
produce,  and  that  your  story  is  bona  fide,  I think  I can  at 
all  events  promise  you  that  Mr.  Furzedon  will  be  warned 
off  the  Turf,  and  be  no  longer  received  in  decent  society.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  and  touching  his  hat,  Mr.  Prance 
accepted  his  dismissal,  and  with  an  exultant  heart  vanished 
into  the  crowd. 

As  for  Norman  Slade  he  paced  up  and  down  in  the  Pad- 
dock,  revolving  the  whole  story  in  his  mind  for  some 
minutes.  He  had  vowed  if  he  could  get  proof  of  this  thing 
to  follow  up  the  matter  to  its  bitter  end,  and  here  was 
proof  ready  to  his  hand,  if  Prance’s  tale  was  to  be  trusted. 
This  scoundrel  Furzedon,  moreover,  was  figuring  in  society, 
and  had  actually  forced  an  acquaintar^ce  upon  Bertie 


SINISTER  RUMOURS. 


259 


Slade,  his — Norman’s — nephew.  Now  it  was  high  time 
the  disguise  was  torn  off  this  impostor.  This  fraudulent 
money-lender  should  be  shown  up  in  his  true  colours,  and, 
if  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of  the  ordinary  law,  he  was  still 
Dpen  to  the  judgment  of  the  Turf  Senate,  and  if  when  the 
facts  were  brought  before  them  they  should  think  fit  to 
pass  sentence,  Mr.  Furzedon  would  find  that  there  were 
malpractices  in  racing  that  could  not  be  committed  with 
mpunity. 


HARLIE’S  exile  is  a source  of  sore  trouble  to  Lettie 


Devereux,  and  of  infinite  mortification  to  her  aunt. 


They  both,  perhaps,  unduly  exulted  at  that  young  scape- 
grace’s appointment  to  the  — th  Hussars.  They  had  been 
so  proud  of  their  young  Dragoon  I and  now  that  was  all 
over  I He  was  in  a far  country,  engaged  in  what  was 
apparently  little  better  than  police-work.  Mrs.  Connop, 
indeed,  had  been  so  melted  by  what  she  called  the  misfor- 
tunes of  her  favourite  nephew  that  she  had  been  ready  to 
contribute  very  handsomely  towards  extricating  him  from 
his  difficulties ; if  her  brother  would  furnish  two-thirds  of 
the  requisite  money,  she  would  find  the  remainder  ; but  old 
Tom  Devereux,  taking  counsel  from  shrewd  and  worldly 
Major  Braddock,  was  obstinate.  Charlie  had  made  his 
own  bed,  and  must  lie  on  it.  Major  Braddock  was  by 
no  means  averse  to  welcoming  a return  of  the  prodigal  in 
due  season ; but  what  he  did  object  to  was  a premature 
mincing  of  veal  in  his  behalf. 

“ No  such  schoolmaster  as  experience  ! ” quoth  the 
Major.  Let  him  feel  thoroughly  for  a time  the  change 
of  position  his  folly  has  cost  him.  Let  him  discover  what 
slow  work  chevying  dacoits  is  compared  to  a gallop  with 
the  York  and  Ainsty  ! and,  by  the  Lord  I sir,  let  him  know 
<he  difference  of  living  on  his  rations  and  dinner  at  the 
|mess  of  his  old  regiment.” 

So  Lettie  had  to  make  up  her  mind  that  a long  time 


XXXVI. — Sinister  Rumours. 


SADDLB  AND  SABR& 


tea 

would  pass  before  she  should  see  her  favourite  brothei 
again.  That  he  was  dissatisfied  with  his  lot  she  felt  certain, 
although  there  was  not  the  slightest  complaint  in  any  one 
of  his  letters  ; but  there  was  a want  of  “ go  **  in  his  corre- 
spondence very  different  from  the  bright,  cheery  epistles  of 
yore ; very  different  from  the  letters  he  had  written  from 
the  University,  or  those  he  penned  when  he  first  joined  his 
regiment  at  York.  Once  only  had  he  been  betrayed  into 
impatience  of  his  present  life,  and  that  was  when  he  said 
that  he  only  wished  that  he  had  better  work  to  do  than 
that  he  had  been  employed  in.”  Another  thing,  too,  which 
considerably  discomposed  Miss  Devereux  was  that  Gilbert 
Slade  seemed  to  have  totally  disappeared  from  her  ken. 
She  not  only  never  met  him,  she  never  even  heard  of  him 
now.  She  was  back  again  at  North  Leach,  and,  indeed,  had 
been  for  some  time  ; but  how  different  it  all  was  from  the 
winter  before  1 when  Charlie  was  looking  forward  to  join- 
ing his  regiment  at  York,  and  bringing  back  Bertie  Slade 
with  him  to  wind  up  the  season  by  a last  fortnight  with 
the  Brocklesby ; and  then  Lettie  thought  the  world  was 
getting  very  dull,  as  we  all  do  when  things  don’t  run 
quite  in  accordance  with  our  desires,  and  finally  resolved 
that  she  wo«ld  ride  across  and  see  Kate  Kynaston,  for  the 
Kynastons  had  once  more  taken  The  Firs  for  the  hunting 
season  ; and,  though  there  had  been  a relaxing  of  that  great 
friendship  which  had  suddenly  sprung  up  between  that 
lady  and  herself,  still,  strange  to  say,  a common  trouble 
had  once  more  drawn  them  together.  Mrs.  Kynaston  had 
schemed  and  plotted  successfully — she  had  succeeded  in 
detaching  Gilbert  Slade  altogether  from  Miss  Devereux 
but  she  had  also  unluckily  lost  touch  of  him  herself.  She 
had  failed  to  realise  that  both  she  and  Lettie  owed  in  great 
measure  their  intimacy  with  Bertie  Slade  chiefly  to  his 
being  a brother  officer  of  Charlie’s,  and  that  now  that 
youthful  cornet  had  disappeared  from  the  scene  they  heard 
no  more  of  Gilbert’s  movements.  B^h  ladies  thought — 
and  Lettie  with  good  reason — that  for  her  own  sake 

would  have  proved  sufficiently  attractive  to  ensure  seeing 
and  hearing  a good  deal  of  him,  while  Kate  Kynaston’s 
vanity  enabled  her  to  take  a similar  view  of  the  situation. 


SINISTER  RUMOURS. 


261 


Miss  Devereux  wondered  whether  the  rumour  that  she  wa? 
engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Furzedon  had  anything  to 
say  to  Gilbert  Slade’s  persistent  avoidance  of  her — avoid- 
ance was  perhaps  hardly  the  right  term,-  for  he  had 
certainly  tried  twice  to  see  her  during  the  Derby  week. 
Still,  he  could  have  managed  to  meet  her  easily  enough  had 
he  wished  it  ; he  could  have  found  plenty  of  excuses  for 
writing  to  her ; but  no,  from  the  week  he  had  paid  those 
two  bootless  visits  to  Onslow  Gardens  Gilbert  Slade  had 
given  no  sign  of  his  very  existence.  She  knew  how  per- 
sistently the  story  of  her  engagement  had  been  circulated  ; 
of  the  shameful  persecution — for  it  amounted  to  that — she 
had  been  subjected  to  by  Mr.  Furzedon.  Was  it  not 
possible  this  infamous  falsehood  had  been  brought  design- 
edly to  Gilbert  Slade’s  ears,  and  would  not  that  account 
for  his  never  coming  near  her  ? 

She  might  have  been  more  disposed  to  accept  this  theory 
but  for  Mrs.  Kynaston,  who  was  continually  impressing 
upon  her  that  in  affairs  of  the  heart  soldiers  were  not  to  be 
put  faith  in.  A great  propounder  of  the  doctrine  that  “ he 
loves  and  rides  away”  was  Mrs.  Kynaston,  but  then,  just 
now,  she  had  a purpose  to  serve,  and  she  was  relentless  in 
her  determination  to  crush  out  any  feeling  for  Gilbert 
Slade  that  might  be  lurking  in  Miss  Devereux’s  bosom. 
True,  Mrs.  Kynaston  was  not  forwarding  her  own  flirta- 
tion in  any  way.  And,  what  was  more,  although  that  lady 
had  not  in  the  least  abated  her  caprice  for  Gilbert  Slade, 
she  was  utterly  nonplussed  as  regards  further  pursuit  of  it. 
It  was  not  likely  that  the  fiction  of  Lettie’s  engagement  to 
Mr.  Furzedon  could  be  much  longer  kept  up;  and  Mrs. 
Kynaston  had  only  the  other  day  been  compelled  to  write 
that  gentleman  a stinging  rebuke  for  what  she  denominated 
his  ill-advised  audacity.  Persistent  in  his  determination 
to  marry  Miss  Devereux,  Furzedon  had  actually  written 
to  her  father,  and  volunteered  a visit  to  North  Leach  ; but, 
upon  hearing  this,  Lettie  blazed  out  indignantly — 

“ It  can’t  be,  father  ! it  mustn't  be  1 He  has  asked  me  to 
marry  him,  and  he  won’t  take  ‘ No  ’ for  an  answer.  Already 
he  has  spread  abroad  the  report  that  I am  engaged  to  him. 
His  proposing  this  visit  is  all  a part  of  his  It 


262 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


would  give  an  air  of  truth  to  the  rumour.  If  he  were  a 
gentleman  he  would  cease  from  persecuting  me.  My  ‘ No  I * 
was  not  only  said  clearly  and  distinctly  to  start  with,  but 
has  been  quite  as  decisively  repeated.” 

‘‘  Say  no  more,  Lettie  ! If  he  is  distasteful  to  you,  my 
girl,  he  sha’n’t  come  to  North  Leach.  But  as  he  is  an  old 
friend  of  Charlie  we  must  make  some  civil  excuse.” 

Although  in  the  first  instance  Mrs.  Kynaston  had  been 
the  suggester  and  promoter  of  Furzedon’s  suit,  yet  now 
that  she  had  attained  her  end  she  had  become  a very  half- 
hearted ally.  She  began  to  see  now  that  nothing  was 
likely  to  shake  Lettie’s  determination  ; and,  though  such 
a marriage  would  have  suited  her  very  well,  she  was 
getting  very  doubtful  of  its  ever  being  brought  about.  Mrs. 
Kynaston  had  always  a shrewd  eye  to  the  future.  She 
liked  wealthy  friends,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Furzedon  would 
have  been  always  sure  to  have  a pleasant  house  where  &he 
could  claim  a welcome.  She  had  seen  so  many  young 
women  say  ‘‘  No  ” in  the  first  instance  to  wealthy  wooers, 
and  afterwards  change  their  minds,  that  she  thought  it 
might  be  so  with  Miss  Devereux ; but  she  thought  so  no 
longer,  and  considered  that  any  such  decided  step  on  Mr. 
Furzedon’s  part — as  volunteering  himself  to  North  Leach 
— might  rend  aside  that  flimsy  fiction  of  his  engagement, 
which  it,  for  the  present,  suited  Mrs.  Kynaston  to  maintain. 

She  had  told  Mr.  Furzedon  that  perseverance  is  all  very 
well,  but  that  it  must  be  accompanied  by  tact.  Given 
that,  as  long  as  a woman  is  unwed  no  man  need  despair  of 
winning  her  for  a wife;  and  then  Mrs.  K}maston,  her 
platitudes  got  done  with,  relieved  her  own  disappointment 
by  administering  as  many  pm-pricks  to  the  rather  pachy- 
dermatous Furzedon  as  she  could  compass. 

In  pursuance  of  her  resolution  Miss  Devereux  cantered 
over  to  The  Firs,  and  found  Kate  Kynaston  both  at  home 
and  a prey  to  that  unmitigated  boredom  which  is  apt 
to  steal  over  sparsely-populated  country  neighbourhoods 
with  the  last  days  of  the  hunting  season ; when  the  hot 
sun  and  bleak  nor’-easter  have  so  dried  up  the  ground  that 
there  is  no  scent ; when  those  on  one  side  the  cover  are 
shivering  while  those  on  the  other  are  mopping  the  per* 


SINISTER  RUMOURS. 


203 


spiration  from  their  brows,  and  a general  feeling  obtains 
that  sylvan  scenes  and  amusements  are  played  out  for  the 
present.  Mrs.  Kynaston  welcomed  her  visitor  warmly. 
She  was  in  that  state  of  ennui  and  depression  that  makes 
even  the  appearance  of  one’s  pet  antipathy  a subject  of 
rejoicing,  so  that  she  was  most  unfeignedly  glad  to  see 
Lettie. 

“ How  good  of  you  to  come  I ” she  exclaimed.  “ I was 
just  wondering  what  I shauld  do  with  myself.  The  coun- 
try has  grown  so  tristCt  and  I am  positively  pining  for 
London.” 

“ I don’t  think  you  have  much  cause  for  complaint,” 
rejoined  Miss  Devereux,  “ not  but  what  I quite  agree  with 
you  that  it  is  a dull  time  with  us  ; still,  two  or  three  weeks 
will  see  you  out  of  it.” 

‘‘  Yes ; and  I believe  it’s  nothing  but  sheer  perversity  on 
Dick’s  part  that  makes  us  stay  even  that  long.  He  insists 
upon  staying  for  Lincoln  races ; declares  he’s  going  to 
win  a hunters’  flat  race  there.  What  a jolly  party  we  were 
there  two  years  ago. 

“Yes,”  said  Lettie;  “poor  Charlie,  how  mortified  he 
was  at  being — as  he  said — gammoned  out  of  the  race  by 
the  Walkers.  It  was  a bitter  pill  for  him  having  to  leave 
the  — th  Hussars ; but  I verily  believe  having  to  part  with 
Pole  Star  caused  him  as  much  grief  as  anything.” 

“ Yes,  I dare  say.  It’s  sad  to  think  of,  my  dear,  but  I 
fancy  the  laureate  knew  what  he  was  writing  about.  It  is 
rather  humiliating — 

‘ Something  nearer  than  his  dog, 

Not  so  <Uar,  quite,  as  his  horse,’ 

But  the  noble  animal  does  come  first,  I’m  afraid,  with  these 
hard  riders.  When  Mrs.  Morrison  got  such  a nasty  fall 
last  year  they  say  her  husband’s  first  anxious  inquiry  was, 
‘ Is  the  mare  much  hurt  ? ’ ” 

“ I won’t  have  Charlie  compared  to  a brute  like  Mr. 
Morrison,”  said  Lettie,  laughing  ; “ besides,  that  couple 
are  very  well  matched.  If  he  had  come  to  grief  I can  quite 
fancy  her  making  the  like  inquiry.  Shall  you  go  to  Lin- 
coln with  the  Major  ? ” 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


264 

‘No;  it’s  no  fun  by  myself  in  that  way.  I wish  you 

would  come.'* 

“ WeVe  none  of  us  any  heart  for  it  this  year,"  replied 
Lettie.  “ Mother  is  quite  convinced  that  she  will  never 
see  Charlie  again,  and  he  was  her  favourite,  you  know ; 
and  even  father,  I believe,  is  sorry  now  that  he  didn’t  pay 
all  that  money,  sooner  than  Charlie  should  have  had  to 
exchange,” 

“ The  old  story,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  meditatively. 
“ Fathers  are  so  fond  of  playing  the  relentless  parent  to 
start  with,  forgetting  they  are  usually  unfitted  for  the  role ; 
besides,  ‘the  cutting  off  with  a shilling’  is  quite  out  of 
fashion  now-a-days.  Do  you  ever  hear  anything  of  Mr. 
Slade,  or  any  of  Charlie’s  old  friends  ? ” 

“ I know  nothing  of  Mr.  Slade,  and  haven’t  seen  him  for 
more  than  a year.  Of  Mr.  Furzedon — who,  I suppose, 
must  be  included  in  that  list — I have  seen  a good  deal  too 
much,  though  not  lately.  I have  come  to  detest  that  man.” 
“ Which  is  hard,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston,  “ considering 
how  he  has  striven  to  produce  an  opposite  result.  No,” 
she  continued,  as  Miss  Devereux  made  an  impatient  ges- 
ture of  dissent,  “ I am  going  to  advocate  his  cause  no 
longer;  but  what  you  call  his  persecution  many  women 
would  regard  as  a proof  of  the  sincerity  of  his  love. 
There’s  much  truth  in  the  old  adage,  and  ‘faint  heart  never 
did  win  fair  lady.’  I suppose  there  are  women  who  from 
very  weariness  yield  at  last  to  man’s  pertinacity.” 

“ Poor  weak  creatures  I But  I am  made  of  sterner  stuff. 
I don’t  like  Mr.  Furzedon,  and  I never  shall.  And  you 
may  call  it  what  you  like,  but  his  still  pursuing  me  with 
his  addresses  I regard  as  persecution.” 

“ Well  it's  a persecution  that  most  girls  look  upon  with 
a lenient  eye,”  retorted  Mrs.  Kynaston,  who,  although 
declaring  that  she  could  no  longer  advocate  Furzedon ’s 
cause,  and  who  in  her  heart  was  quite  convinced  that  it 
was  hopeless,  still  never  could  resist  giving  him  such  sup- 
port as  came  to  her  hand. 

“ Do  you  know,”  said  Lettie,  “ that  there  has  rather  a 
curious  thing  happened  about  Mr.  Furzedon  lately.” 

replied  her  companion, “ and  if  anything  of  im- 


SINISTER  RUMOURS,  26$ 

portance  had  happened  to  him,  I fancy  Dick  would  have 
heard  of  it.” 

“ I had  a letter  the  other  day  from  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Con- 
nop,  which  has  mystified  me  a good  deal.  She  says  she 
had  a few  lines  from  Mr  Slade,  who  tells  her  that  Mr. 
Furzedon  has  got  involved  in  a very  serious  scrape; 
whether  he  has  told  her  of  what  nature  or  not  I don’t 
know,  she  at  all  events  does  not  tell  me,  but  as  far  as  I can 
make  out,  the  gist  of  Mr.  Slade’s  letter  appears  to  be  that 
the  less  we  see  of  Mr.  Furzedon  the  better.” 

“You  mean  to  say,  Lettie,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston,  eagerly, 
“ that  he  has  done  something  which  would  oblige  his 
acquaintance  dropping  him,  because  Mr.  Slade’s  letter 
means  that  or  nothing.” 

“ It  is  putting  things  rather  strongly  perhaps,  but  that 
is  pretty  much  what  I make  out  of  Aunt  Sarah’s  letter. 
Mr.  Slade  no  doubt  imagines  that  Mr.  Furzedon  is  a con- 
stant visitor  in  Onslow  Gardens.” 

“ Instead  of  being  merely  anxious  to  be  one,”  interrupted 
Mrs,  Kynaston.  “ Well,  never  mind.  I’ll  not  allude  to  all 
that,  but  you  do  surprise  me.  Mr.  Furzedon  is  such  a 
shrewd  self-possessed  person  I should  have  thought  him 
the  last  man  likely  to  get  into  an  awkward  scrape.  By  the 
way,  Mr.  Slade  might  have  vouchsafed  me  a hint  as  well 
as  Mrs.  Connop.  Mr.  Furzedon  is  always  at  our  house 
when  we’re  in  town.  He  and  Dick  are  partners  in  racing 
matters.  It  can’t  be  anything  of  that  sort,  surely,”  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Kynaston,  thoughtfully. 

“ I know  no  more  than  I have  told  you,”  replied  Lettie, 
“ but  I don’t  quite  share  your  opinion  of  Mr.  Furzedon, 
I’ll  quite  admit  that  he  is  too  shrewd  and  sensible  to  get 
into  what’s  called  a scrape,  but  I can  quite  imagine  him 
capable  in  pursuit  of  his  own  schemes  of  what  the  world 
would  call  a crime,”  and  Lettie  thought  bitterly  of  how 
Furzedon  had  proposed  to  purchase  her  hand  by  the  pay- 
ment of  her  brother’s  debts. 

Mrs.  Kynaston  eyed  her  visitor  keenly.  The  same 
thought  had  once  or  twice  occurred  to  herself;  she  was  too 
shrewd  a judge  of  human  nature  not  to  have  detected  long 
ago  that  Furzedon  was  a very  unscrupulous  man  ; she  had 


265 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


dismissed  the  thought  as  soon  as  it  occurred  to  her  with 
the  reflection  that  after  all  this  was  an  acquaintance  of  her 
husband.  She  had  been  told  to  be  civil  to  him,  and  that 
Dick  Kynaston  was  quite  competent  to  take  care  of  himself ; 
she  felt  very  curious  to  know  what  this  cloud  was  that  was 
hanging  over  Furzedon  ; but  it  was  quite  evident  that 
Lettie  knew  no  more  whatever  Mrs.  Connop  might  do. 
In  the  meantime  it  was  possible  that  the  Major  would  be 
able  to  solve  the  mystery  when  she  should  ask  him  about  it. 

“ I will  ring  for  my  horse  now,  if  you  will  allow  me,**  said 
Miss  Devereux,  “ and  I will  let  you  know  whenever  the 
Furzedon  mystery  clears  up;  for  the  present,  good-bye! 
and  remember,  you  have  only  two  or  three  weeks*  dulness 
before  you,  while,  as  for  poor  me,  I am  planted  here  till  it 
pleases  Aunt  Sarah  to  send  for  me  I **  and  with  a shrug  of 
her  shoulders,  indicative  of  much  disgust,  Lettie  Devereux 
took  her  departure. 


XXXVII. — Major  Kynaston’s  Visitor. 

HEN  Major  Kynaston  came  home  that  evening,  his 


wife  at  once  informed  him  of  what  Miss  Devereux 


had  told  her  ; but  the  Major  was  even  more  astonished 
than  his  wife,  and  professed  himself  perfectly  unable  to 
guess  what  scrape  Furzedon  had  possibly  got  into.  He 
quite  agreed  with  his  wife  that  Furzedon  was  about  the  last 
man  he  should  have  expected  to  come  to  grief  in  any  way. 

“ He  is  as  sharp  as  a needle,  Kate,  has  plenty  of  money, 
and  knows  how  to  take  care  of  it.  He  don*t  overrate  his 
game  at  anything,  and  there  is  no  man  in  London  better 
able  to  take  care  of  himself  on  the  racecourse  or  at  the 
card-table ; he's  not  likely  to  come  to  harm ; and,  though 
it’s  going  rather  far  to  say  that  a man  of  his  age  is  proof 
against  the  fascination  of  your  sex,  I can  only  think  Furze- 
don’s  a fish  that  would  take  a deal  of  catching.” 

But  think,  Dick,  is  there  no  Turf  transaction  in  which 
he  was  engaged  this  year,  in  which  his  conduct  might  be 
called — wSl,  shady  ? ” 


MAJOR  KYNASTON’S  VISITOR. 


26; 


“ None  that  I know  of,”  rejoined  the  Major.  “ He’s  no 
fo©l ; but  I don’t  think  he  would  do  anything^— to  put  it 
broadly — that  could  be  laid  hold  of.” 

“ Stop,  Dick  1 What  was  the  biggest  coup  you  and  he 
made  last  year  ? The  Derby,  wasn’t  it  ? ” 

“ Yes ; but  Furzedon  won  a good  deal  more  money  than 
I did  over  it.  He  laid  against  the  favourite  to  an  extent 
I didn’t  dare,  and  got  rather  nervous  about  it.” 

“Just  so  ; and  wasn’t  there  some  story  about  the  jockey 
who  rode  Belisarius  being  drugged  ? ” 

“ Yes ; there  always  are  all  sorts  of  canards  about  when 
a favourite  is  beaten  for  a big  race.  Drugged,”  continued 
Dick  Kynaston  ; “ well,  as  far  as  taking  about  a bottle  of 
brandy  before  he  got  up,  I suppose  Bill  Smith  was.  He 
had  been  on  the  drink  ever  since  he  won  the  ‘ Two  Thou- 
sand,’ and  it  was  the  knowledge  of  that  led  us  to  bet  against 
him.  Furzedon,  who,  as  I said  before,  went  deeper  into 
it  than  I did,  had  a tout  down  at  Epsom  to  watch  him, 
just  as  you  would  watch  a horse  ; and  it  was  liis  reporting 
that  Bill  Smith  was  never  sober  induced  ium  to  lay  so 
heavily  against  the  horse.” 

“Then,  you  don’t  believe  the  story  of  this  drugged  glass 
that  was  handed  him  in  the  Paddock?”  remarked  Mrs. 
Kynaston. 

“ Certainly  not,”  rejoined  the  Major.  “ Don’t  think  Bill 
Smith  required  anything  of  that  sort , he  rendered  himsel/ 
incapable  in  a legitimate  way.  There  are  plenty  of  othei 
ways  a man  may  come  to  grief,  Kate.” 

“ Quite  so,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston  ; “ and,  I suppose, 
if  it’s  true  that  Mr.  Furzedon  is  in  trouble,  it  is  from  a 
cause  we  should  never  dream  of.” 

“ If  there  really  is  anything  in  the  rumour,  you  may  de- 
pend on  it  we  shall  soon  hear — rather  a bore  if  it’s  a big 
scandal,”  continued  Dick,  “ because  we  have  been  rathei 
intimate  with  him  of  late  ; and  I have  been  mixed  up  in  a 
good  many  business  matters  with  him.” 

“ Yes ; as  you  say,  it  would  be  a little  awkward ; it 
always  is  when  one’s  intimates  turn  out  disreputable  or 
adventurers.  However,  we  shall  doubtless  soon  know  all 
about  it,  if  there  is  anything  to  know.” 


268 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Dick  Kynaston  upon  this  occasion  went  to  Lincoln 
unaccompanied  by  his  wife,  and  returned  in  high  spirits, 
his  speculations  having  proved  eminently  successful.  As 
had  been  arranged,  the  races  over,  the  Kynastons  at  once 
took  their  departure  for  London,  and  Miss  Devereux  was 
left  in  the  seclusion  of  North  Leach,  to  make  the  best  of 
eastern  county  spring  time,  and  anxiously  await  her  aunt’s 
invitation  to  visit  her  in  Onslow  Gardens.  “ Surely,” 
thought  Lettie,  Mr.  Slade  will  feel  himself  bound  to  call, 
after  writing  that  line  of  warning  to  Aunt  Sarah.”  And  then 
she  wondered  whether  that  warning  had  not  been  intended 
for  her.  It  was  very  possible  Gilbert  had  heard  that  she  was 
engaged  to  Mr.  Furzedon,  and  was  desirous  of  giving  her 
a hint  of  that  gentleman’s  character  before  it  was  too  late. 
From  what  she  knew  of  Gilbert  Slade,  he  was  not  at  all 
the  man  to  indulge  in  reckless  gossip  about  his  fellows. 
She  felt  sure  he  would  never  have  written  to  Mrs.  Connop 
in  this  wise  without  very  substantial  ground  to  go  on. 
And  then  Lettie,  as  she  turned  the  subject  once  more  in  her 
mind,  whispered  to  herself  ‘‘he  surely  must  care  a little 
about  me,  or  he  would  never  have  interfered for,  by  this 
time,  Miss  Devereux  had  quite  convinced  herself  that  it 
was  in  her  special  behoof  that  Gilbert  had  written  to  her 
aunt.  How  she  did  wish  that  she  could  see  that  letter  ! 
Not  that  she  supposed  there  was  any  mention  of  her  in  if; 
but  she  was  very  curious  to  see  exactly  what  Mr.  Slade 
had  said.  At  present  she  eould  not  be  sure  whether  this 
guarded  reticence  was  Mrs.  Connop’s  or  his.  She  was 
destined  to  read  that  letter  some  little  time  later  with 
mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  annoyance.  In  the  mean- 
time the  Kynastons  had  duly  settled  in  Mayfair  for  the 
season,  and  the  Major  had  also  received  a letter  which 
puzzled  him  pretty  nearly  as  much  as  Gilbert  Slade’s  did 
Miss  Devereux.  Dick  Kynaston’s  note  was  from  the  uncle, 
and  the  fact  of  Norman  Slade  writing  to  him  at  all  aston- 
ished the  Major  not  a little.  When  they  had  met,  racing, 
Kynaston  had  more  than  once  endeavoured  to  improve  the 
slight  acquaintance  he  had  had  with  him ; but  Norman 
was  a very  different  man  to  know,  unless  you  happened  to 
suit  his  fancy — the  last  man  upon  whom  it  was  possible  to 


MAJOR  KYNASTON'S  VISITOR. 


2O9 


force  an  acquaintance  ; and,  as  we  know,  he  had  conceived 
a dislike  to  the  Major  the  very  first  time  he  met  him.  The 
note  was  very  formal  and  very  short ; it  commenced, 
‘‘  Dear  sir,”  and  briefly  inquired  when  it  would  suit  Major 
Kynaston  to  see  the  writer  on  a matter  of  business.  Dick, 
of  course,  replied  naming  a day  upon  which  he  would  be 
at  home,  and  then  consulted  his  wife  as  to  what  business 
it  was  possible  Norman  Slade  could  want  to  see  him  about. 
Mrs.  Kynaston  read  the  letter  attentively,  and  then  ex- 
claimed— “I  am  right,  Dick;  it’s  some  Turf  scrape  that 
Mr.  Furzedon  has  got  into.  Mr.  Norman  Slade  is  a great 
racing-man,  is  he  not  ? ” 

The  Major  nodded  assent. 

**  You  are  known  to  be  Furzedon’s  Turf  partner,  and  you 
may  depend  upon  it  he  went  a good  deal  further  than  you 
know  of  about  that  Derby.  There’s  a storm  brewing, 
Dick,  and  I am  afraid  some  of  the  mud  likely  to  be  stirred 
up  will  come  our  way.” 

“ Rather  rough  if  it  should,  but  the  Derby  business  took 
place  as  I told  you  the  other  day,  and  I don’t  believe  Nor- 
man Slade  wants  to  see  me  about  anything  connected  with 
racing.  More  likely  some  young  fellow  has  got  into  a mess 
about  bills,  and  he  wants  my  advice  about  it — his  nephew 
the  Hussar,  I shouldn’t  wonder.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston’s  heart  gave  a jump  as  she  thought  of 
Bertie  Slade  in  trouble  and  coming  to  them  for  advice  and 
assistance.  That  would  afford  many  delightful  opportuni- 
ties of  prosecuting  the  flirtation  for  the  forwarding  of 
which  she  had  so  patiently  schemed,  and  enable  her  to 
complete  the  subjugation  of  that  errant  Dragoon  ; for  that, 
given  sufficient  opportunity,  any  man  could  resist  her 
fascinations  was  an  idea  that  never  crossed  Kate  Kynas- 
ton’s mind.  She  had  a wild  caprice  to  install  Bertie  Slade 
as  chief  cavalier-in-waiting,  and  had  allowed  her  feelings 
to  run  riot  as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  What  had  been 
caprice  was  now  dangerously  near  a mad  infatuation,  and 
Mrs.  Kynaston  had  neither  love  for  her  husband  nor  much 
principle  to  stand  to  her  should  the  hour  of  need  come.  A 
dajr  or  two  lAtPTi  and  Norman  Sbde  was  duly  ush«red  into 


270 


SADDI.E  AND  SABRE. 


Kynaston’s  sanctum  SluA  welcomed  with  great  cordiality  by 
the  Major. 

“ Don’t  know  what  brings  you  here,  Slade,  but  Tm  very 
glad  to  see  you ; and  now  you  have  found  us,  I hope, 
although  it  is  your  first,  it  will  be  by  no  means  your  last 
visit.” 

‘‘  I have  called,  Major  Kynaston,”  replied  Norman,  with 
a slight  inflection  on  the  ‘‘  Major,”  “ to  acquaint  you  with  a 
very  unpleasant  circumstance,  which,  as  it  indirectly  con- 
cerns you,  ought  to  be  made  known  to  you.  Mr.  Furzedon 
is  your  racing  partner,  I believe.” 

“ He  is,”  replied  the  Major  shortly. 

Are  you  aware  what  his  business  is  ?”  asked  Slade. 

I never  heard  he  had  one,”  replied  Kynaston  with 
unfeigned  surprise. 

“And  yet  you  are  credited  with  knowing  the  ins  and 
outs  of  London  life  pretty  well.” 

“ What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ? ” replied  the  Major 
testily. 

“ Mr.  Furzedon  is  a money  lender  on  an  extended  scale,” 
said  Norman  with  an  amused  smile.  “ He  does  business 
under  the  name  of  Jordan  & Co.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed  the  Major,  “ do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  Ralph  Furzedon  is  Jordan  & Co.,  the  swell  pawn- 
brokers ? ” 

“Just  so,”  replied  Slade. 

“Well,”  said  the  Major,  “ it  takes  a good  deal  to  aston- 
ish Dick  Kynaston,  but  he’s  fairly  gravelled  this  time,”  and 
then,  to  Norman  Slade’s  astonishment,  the  Major  burst 
into  a peal  of  laughter. 

What  could  the  man  mean  ? for  Slade  felt  sure  that 
Kynaston  spoke  the  truth  when  he  declared  his  ignorance 
of  Furzedon’s  carrying  on  business  as  Jordan  & Co.  Nor- 
man had  experience  in  his  Turf  life  of  many  shady  charac- 
ters, but  he  would  have  considered  the  discovery  that  one 
of  his  intimate  friends  was  a professional  money-lender  by 
no  means  a thing  to  laugh  at.  But  Dick  Kynaston  was 
struck  with  the  cool  cynicism  of  Furzedon,  as  the  man  about 
town,  recommending  his  spendthrift  associates  to  apply  for 
relief  to  Jordan  & Co.,  alias  Furzedon,  and  how  that  he 


MAJOR  KYN ASTON'S  VISITOR.  2^t 

(the  Major)  had  been  unconsciously  made  to  serve  that 
gentleman’s  interests.  However,  a revulsion  speedily  took 
place,  and  Kynaston  grasped  the  fact  that  his  astute  young 
partner  had  been  making  a fool  of  him.  No  man  arrived 
at  this  situation  but  feels  angry  with  the  originator  of  it, 
and  it  was  not  with  a little  hauteur  the  Major  replied : 

‘‘  I have  been  unable,  Mr.  Slade,  to  help  laughing  at 
Furzedon’s  amazing  impudence,  but  you  can’t  suppose  he 
would  have  ever  crossed  my  threshold  as  a friend,  nor  been 
received  by  my  wife,  if  I had  had  the  slightest  knowledge 
of  his  occupation.  On  a racecourse,  as  you  know,  we  mix 
with  strange  acquaintances.” 

‘‘Yes,”  said  Norman;  “but  I think  you  will  admit  his 
acquaintance,  even  there,  is  highly  detrimental.  I am  about 
to  bring  a very  grave  charge  against  Mr.  Furzedon  before 
the  Jockey  Club;  against  him  remember,  not  you,  though, 
as  his  racing  partner,  it  is  right  you  should  have  early 
notice  of  it.” 

The  Major  was  listening  with  the  greatest  attention. 

“ I shall  charge  Mr.  Furzedon  with  hocussing  the  jockey 
of  Belisarius  in  the  Derby  just  before  the  race.” 

“Absurd!  ’ interrupted  the  Major.  “Bill  Smith  re- 
quired no  hocussing,  he  was  drunk,  as  all  the  world 
knows ” 

“ I have  nothing  to  do  with  whether  he  required  it,” 
sneered  Norman ; “ if  he  did  not  there  was  the  less  cause 
for  Mr.  Furzedon  to  commit  unnecessary  crime.  That  he 
did  I can  and  shall  prove.  I suspected  it  at  the  time,  and 
learnt  it  as  a fact  last  year  at  Doncaster.” 

“And  why  was  the  charge  not  brought  forward  then  ?” 
said  Kynaston. 

“ Simply  because  I was  unable  to  collect  the  evidence 
before  the  racing  season  terminated,  and  there  has  been  no 
quorum  of  the  Jockey  Club  to  bring  the  case  before  since.” 
, “ I know  there  was  some  rumour  of  this  kind  current 

last  May,  but  I never  heard  Furzedon’s  name  connected 
with  it.  I always  regarded  it  as  an  idle  canard  You 
know  very  well,  if  a favourite  does  not  run  up  to  his  form 
in  a big  race,  there’s  generally  a whisper  of  foul  play  of 
som^  kind — usually  quite  unwarranted.  I can  only  say, 


272 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Mr.  Slade,  should  you  prove  your  case,  my  connection  with 
Mr.  Furzedon  is  of  course  terminated — indeed  I think  I 
might  say  that  under  any  circumstances ; in  the  meantime 
I can  only  thank  you  for  giving  me  this  notice  of  your 
intentions.” 

“ It  was  only  right  you  should  have  it,”  rejoined  Norman, 
rising ; “ you  know  the  world,  and  especially  the  racing 
world,  too  well,  not  to  know  that  some  odium  will  probably 
apply  to  yourself,  in  consequence  of  your  partner’s  ne- 
faricnis  proceedings.  What  steps  you  will  think  best  to  take 
are,  of  course,  no  business  of  mine ; I have  only  to  warn 
you  that  the  case  is  very  clear  against  Furzedon.  Good 
morning,  Major  Kynastonl”  And  with  a somewhat  stiff 
bow  Norman  Slade  left  the  room. 

“Pleasant  this,  by  Jove  I”  muttered  the  Major  as  the 
street  door  closed  behind  his  visitor.  “ Slade  is  just  the 
man  to  work  out  this  thing  relentlessly,  and,  what’s  more, 
the  Jockey  Club  will  listen  to  him.  That  young  scoundrel ! 
I have  not  the  slightest  doubt  he’s  guilty.  Slade  would 
never  have  spoken  so  confidently  as  he  did  if  he  had  not 
got  chapter  and  verse  for  it ; he  is  quite  right,  some  of  the 
mud  of  this  transaction  is  sure  to  stick  to  my  skirts! 
Nobody  will  ever  believe  that  I wasn’t  in  the  swim ; they 
will  probably  suggest  that  it  was  all  my  plannings  only  that 
I was  too  cunning  to  risk  doing  it  myself!  Quite  likely 
the  world  will  take  that  view  of  it,  and  will  probably  say 
that  Furzedon  has  to  bear  all  the  punishment  of  it,  while 
the  chief  offender  has  gone  scatheless.  Think  of  that 
young  vagabond  turning  out  to  be  Jordan  & Co. ! ” 

The  Major’s  very  high  tone  about  money-lenders  may 
seem  somewhat  preposterous,  considering  that  he  was  but 
a money-lender’s  jackal  himself ; but  he  regarded  all  that 
as  a strictly  business  transaction,  and  upon  the  rare  occa- 
sions any  of  the  fraternity  were  permitted  to  pass  his 
door  they  got  no  further  than  into  his  own  immediate  den. 

As  he  walked  away  Norman  Slade  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Major  Kynaston  had  been  guilty  of  no  conniv- 
ance with  his  partner" in  the  matter  of  the  Epsom  robbery. 
It  had  evidently  been  done  without  his  knowledge,  and  it 
was  quite  evident  to  Slade  that  he  was  in  considerable 


SHERE  ALI  VANISHES. 


*73 


ignorance  of  Mr.  Furzedon’s  character  and  pursuits.  ‘‘To 
think,”  he  muttered  with  a smile,  “ of  such  a sly  old  fox  as 
Kynaston  thinks  himself  being  bamboozled  by  such  a young 
blackguard  as  Furzedon.  However,  one  must  get  up  pretty 
early  to  hold  one’s  own  with  a pawmbroker’s  nephew,  I 
suppose,  and  this  one  certainly  seems  exceptionally  gifted.” 


XXXVIII. — Shere  Ali  Vanishes. 

Hobson  and  Charlie  Devereux  rode  back  to  camp  at 
a hand  gallop.  Sharp  and  decisive  were  the  former’s 
orders  to  strike  the  tents  and  fall  in  as  quickly  as  possible. 
In  less  than  a couple  of  hours  the  soldiers  had  abandoned 
the  shade  of  the  grateful  tope  of  palms  and  were  tramping 
across  the  sandy  plain  that  separated  them  from  the  wooded 
country.  The  soldiers  all  knew  that  their  officers  had  come 
upon  the  enemy,  and  stepped  out  with  a will,  in  the  hope 
that  at  last  they  were  about  to  come  up  with  their  wily 
fleet-footed  foe,  and  settle  with  him  for  the  many  long 
wearisome  marches  he  had  caused  them.  Charlie  Deve- 
reux, especially,  is  very  sanguine  on  this  score,  but  the 
tough  veteran  who  leads  them  is  by  no  means  hopeful 
about  it. 

“ I trust  you  may  prove  right,  Devereux,”  said  Hobson, 
in  reply  to  the  gleeful  prognostications  of  his  subaltern  ; 

“ but  they  are  cunning  as  jackals,  these  Pandies.  They 
know  where  we  halted,  and  Shere  Ali  would  make  a very 
good  guess  at  how  long  we  should  be  before  we  reached 
lum,  and  I do  not  believe  he  will  wait  for  us.” 

Hobson  proved  a true  prophet,  for  when  they  arrived  at  - 
the  edge  of  the  jungle  the  skirmishers  speedily  announced 
that  the  enemy’s  camp  was  deserted.  His  cooking  fires 
were  still  smouldering,  and  it  was  evident,  from  other 
signs,  that  he  had  been  encamped  there  for  some  days, 
but  Shere  Ali  had  now  vanished,  and  there  was  nothing  to 
show  in  what  direction.  It  might  have  been  by  the  road, 
but  lipb^n  was  well  aware  that  there  were  numerous  trails 


274 


SADDLE  AND  SABRK 


through  the  jungle  perfectly  well  known  and  not  infre- 
quently used  by  the  natives,  and  it  was  more  probable  that 
the  famous  dacoit  chief  would  sooner  trust  to  the  track- 
less forest  to  baffle  the  pursuit  of  the  Feringee  than  rely 
upon  the  legs  of  his  followers  on  the  main  road.  This  was 
rather  a tangled  knot  to  unravel,  and  Charlie  chafed  and 
fretted  a good  deal,  because  his  captain  halted  instead 
of  pushing  along  the  main  road  rapidly  in  pursuit  of  the 
fugitives. 

“ Surely  we  are  losing  time,**  he  remarked  at  length,  no 
longer  able  to  control  his  impatience. 

‘‘  Don’t  cackle  about  what  you  don’t  understand,  young 
*un,”  rejoined  Hobson,  good-humouredly.  “ If  I knew 
Shere  Ali  had  gone  that  road  ; if  I really  had  some  grounds 
for  supposing  he  had  taken  it,  I would  push  on  at  once. 
As  it  is,  I am  not  going  to  march  my  men  off  their  legs  in 
pursuit  of  a Will-o’-the-Wisp.  You,  no  doubt,  think  Eng- 
lishmen can  beat  these  Pandies  at  anything.  When  it 
comes  to  running  away,  I tell  you  they’re  not  in  it  with 
these  fellows.” 

Charlie  thought  there  was  a lamentable  want  of  dash 
about  his  leader ; but  Hobson  had  not  hunted  down  the 
broken  sepoy  army  in  the  great  Mutiny  time  without 
learning  how  very  hard  they  were  to  come  up  with  when 
they  did  not  deem  it  expedient  to  fight,  and  how  they  were 
served  by  their  intimate  knowledge  of  the  by-ways  of  the 
country. 

“ It’s  weary  work,”  continued  Hobson,  “ but  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  make  such  inquiries  as  one  can,  and  if 
we  can  make  out  nothing  about  Shere  Ali  and  his  band 
patrol  the  main  road.” 

‘‘  Like  policemen  on  their  beats,”  said  Charlie,  with  a 
face  of  extreme  disgust. 

“Just  so,”  rejoined  Hobson.  “However,  you  needn’t 
be  down  on  your  luck.  I don’t  know  why,  but  I have  an 
idea  that  you  are  destined  to  be  face  to  face  with  Shere 
Ali  one  of  these  days.” 

“ What  makes  you  think  that  ? ” asked  Charlie. 

“ I tell  you  I don’t  know.  Pshaw  ! that’s  not  quite  true. 
I’m  not  much  given  to  dreaming,  but  I bad  a confused 


SHERE  ALI  VANISHES.  275 

dream  the  other  nighty  in  which  you  and  a tall  Pandie 
figured  prominently.** 

“ And  what  were  we  doing  ? *’ 

“ Well,  your  best  to  kill  each  other,’*  replied  Hobson. 

“ And  how  did  it  finish  ? ** 

“ That  is  just  what  I can*t  tell  you.  It  was  most  annoy* 
ing.  I awoke  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  I was  most  anxious 
to  see  the  finish  of  that  fight.**  ^ 

“ But  who  was  getting  the  best  of  it  ? ” said  Charlie, 
with  great  interest.  ^ 

“ It  was  anybody*s  battle,**  replied  Hobson,  laughing. 
“ Don*t  think  me  bloodthirsty,  but  I did  want  to  see  it 
fought  out.** 

“ Well,**  returned  Charlie,  “ I need  scarcely  say  I should 
have  preferred  your  being  able  to  say  it  was  six  to  four  on 
me  when  you  left.  Sorry,  too,  he  is  so  big.  Have  you 
ever  seen  him  ? *’ 

“ No ; but  I*ve  seen  lots  of  his  sort.  They  run  tall, 
these  Bengalee  sepoys.  I had  our  old  bugbear  Shere  Ali 
and  you  in  my  head,  which,  with  that  remarkably  tough 
mutton  we  dined  on  yesterday,  would  quite  account  for 
my  vision.” 

“ And  where  were  you  ? **  asked  Charlie. 

“ Oh,  you  seldom  see  yourself.  Don*t  you  recollect  that 
when  you  do,  according  to  Scott’s  * Legend,*  you  sleep  in  a 
‘ bluidy  plaid  * ere  long  ? But,  holloa  ! what*s  this  ? It 
looks  like  a runner  from  headquarters.**  And  as  Hobson 
spoke  a peon  was  seen  coming  along  the  road  at  the  sling 
trot  with  which  the  native  usually  accomplishes  the  task  of 
letter-bearing. 

When  he  reached  Hobson  he  stopped,  made  a low 
salaam,  and  handed  him  a letter.  The  Captain  tore  it  open, 
and,  as  he  glanced  hastily  over  it,  exclaimed,  “My  dream  is 
about  to  come  true.  Hurrah!  No  more  of  this  tiresome 
game  of  ‘ catch  who  catch  can.*  We  are  re-called,  and 
are  to  be  mounted.  The  chief  says  the  fiat  has  gone  forth 
that  Shere  Ali  is  to  be  suppressed  at  any  price.  It  seems 
he  has  been  throat-cutting  on  a somewhat  extensive  scale 
of  late,  and  the  Government  are  determined  to  t^e  him 
dead  or  alive*” 


2J6 


SADDLE  AND  SABREl 


Only  give  us  horses,  and  we  will  soon  account  for  him,” 
cried  Charlie,  who,  as  an  ex-Dragoon,  believed  implicitly 
in  mounted  men,  and  held  that  a regiment  of  Hussars 
could  go  anywhere  and  do  anything.  “ But  it  will  take  a 
long  while  to  make  them.” 

“ Put  your  cavalry  ideas  on  one  side,  young  ’un.  Re- 
member we  are  mnly  mounted  infantry,  and  our  horses  are 
hacks,  not  chargers.” 

Charlie  made  no  reply.  He  comprehended  but  one  idea 
of  a soldier  on  horseback,  and  that  was  evidently  not  Hob- 
son’s. Still,  if  they  only  did  get  at  Shere  Ali,  it  wouldn’t, 
he  thought,  much  matter  how.  Charlie  was  burning  for 
that  fight  of  which  Hobson  had  dreamt.  “ When  shall  we 
march  ? ” he  said  at  length. 

“A  little  before  daybreak  to-morrow;  and  we  will  get 
back  to  headquarters  as  quickly  as  possible.” 

On  their  arrival  at  the  cantonment,  Charlie  and  Hobson 
found  their  work  cut  out  for  them,  and  for  the  next  month 
were  busily  engaged  in  organizing  the  mounted  infantry. 
The  regiment  was  picked  for  men  who  could  ride;  and  they 
found  no  lack  of  volunteers.  The  only  difficulty  lay  in 
the  selection,  for  the  British  soldier,  in  his  anxiety  to  vary 
the  monotony  of  his  life,  in  some  cases  over-estimated  his 
equestrian  capabilities.  The  authorities  were  urgent  for 
the  departure  of  Hobson’s  command  as  soon  as  possible ; 
and  there  was  therefore  no  time  to  teach  those  to  ride  who 
had  not  some  knowledge  of  it.  Shere  Ali  was  increasing 
in  audacity  week  by  week,  and  seemed  ubiquitous  in  the 
Deccan.  He  had  of  late  taken  means  to  ensure  there  being 
no  evidence  against  him  by  the  wholesale  murder  of  those 
he  had  robbed,  after  the  manner  of  the  Thugs ; and  there 
was,  consequently,  no  actual  proof  of  his  being  the  author 
of  some  of  the  atrocities  laid  to  his  charge.  He  was  said 
to  be  at  the  head  of  a numerous  band  of  desperadoes,  and 
to  boast  openly  that  he  would  not  be  taken  alive,  and 
neither  asked  nor  gave  quarter.  The  question  of  Shere 
All  had  become  that  of  the  apprehension  of  a great  mar- 
auder ; the  laying  hold  of  a Rob  Roy  or  SchinderhanneSi 
and  the  interest  increased  in  intensity  with  the  constantly^ 
recurring  stories  of  the  dacoit’s  temerity  and  ferocity. 


SHERE  ALI  VANISHES. 


m 


But  a Nemesis  attends  these  human  tigers,  and  they 
mostly  die  violent  deaths.  The  buccaneer  chiefs,  who 
made  their  victims  walk  the  plank,  chiefly  “ found  a rope 
bn  it  before  their  course  was  run.  Sooner  or  later  some 
one  revolts  at  the  doings  of  these  blood-stained  monsters, 
and  either  betrays  them  to  the  powers  or  rids  the  world  of 
them  ; and  it  is  the  aonviction  that  this  awaits  them,  and 
can  only  be  averted  by  the  terror  they  inspire,  that  makes 
them,  once  launched  on  their  career,  insatiable  in  their  lust 
of  blood.  Shere  Ali  knew  that  his  life  was  forfeit,  and 
said  grimly  that  when  his  time  came  his  spirit  would  de- 
part well  attended. 

Hobson’s  men  at  last  satisfy  the  Coloners  critical  eye ; 
and,  with  young  Devereux  as  his  subaltern,  the  Captain  is 
once  more  despatched  in  pursuit  of  his  wily  foe.  There 
has  grown  up  in  the  breasts  of  Hobson,  and  such  of  his 
men  as  were  with  him  on  his  former  expedition,  a feverish 
thirst  to  settle  accounts  with  Shere  Ali,  such  as  a keen 
shekarri  might  feel  to  come  face  to  face  with  a “ man- 
eater,”  such  as  some  years  previously  pervaded  the  Central 
Indian  Field  Force  on  the  subject  of  Tantia  Topee.  That 
sagacious  chieftain  was  always  dodging  backwards  and 
forwards  across  the  Nerbudda,  in  a perfectly  maddening 
manner,  determined  to  fight  only  on  his  own  terms,  which, 
as  a good  strategist,  meant  when  the  chances  were  much 
in  his  favour.  Again  and  again  did  one  or  other  of  the 
English  leaders  think  themselves  certain  of  his  capture, 
only  after  two  or  three  forced  marches  to  find  the  wily 
Asiatic  had  once  more  slipped  across  the  river.  Shere  Ali 
was  enacting  the  great  drama  over  again  on  a small  scale, 
but  with  no  abatement  of  the  murder  and  outrage  that 
characterised  the  great  rebellion. 

There,  Hobson,”  said  the  Colonel,  as  he  bade  the 
detachment  farewell,  “ I hope  you  will  have  the  luck  to 
capture  the  scoundrel ; there  are  so  many  parties  out  on 
the  same  errand  that  it  is  impossible  he  can  evade  you  all. 
Depend  upon  it,  Shere  Ali’s  career  is  about  run.” 

“ My  fellows  are  keen  enough,  sir.  He’s  cost  us  too 
many  long  tramps  not  to  make  us  eager  to  bring  him  ta 
book,  and  this  time  he  won’t  beat  us  for  speedL” 


SADDLE  AND  SABREL 


278 

But  Shere  Ali  proved  more  irritating  to  his  enemies  than 
ever  upon  this  occasion.  Detachments  of  cavalry  and 
mounted  infantry  were,  as  they  thought,  closing  in  upon 
him  on  all  sides,  when  suddenly  the  famous  dacoit  van- 
ished ; no  intelligence  of  his  whereabouts  possible  to  be 
arrived  at.  Where  he  had  gone  or  what  had  become  of 
him  nobody  knew.  Vague  rumours  there  were  that  he 
had  broken  up  his  band  and  fled  into  Bengal.  Weeks 
went  by,  and,  all  efforts  to  learn  anything  concerning  him 
proving  useless,  his  pursuers  were  reluctantly  recalled, 
but  not  before  the  leaders  of  the  various  parties  had  con- 
fessed to  being  unable  to  discover  any  trace  of  him. 

“ Fairly  beat,  sir,”  said  Hobson,  when  he  reported  him- 
self to  his  chief  on  his  return.  “ I learnt  for  certain  that  I 
was  within  forty  miles  of  Shere  Ali.  Did  it  in  fifteen 
hours,  only  to  find  him  fled — where  to  it  is  impossible  to 
conjecture.  If  the  earth  had  swallowed  him  and  his  fol- 
lowers they  could  not  have  more  utterly  vanished^* 

“ We  shall  hear  of  that  fellow  again  before  long,”  said 
the  Colonel  grimly,  ‘‘  and  I hope  hang  him  before  we’ve 
done  with  him.” 

The  chief  proved  a true  prophet ; ere  a month  had 
elapsed  an  outrage  was  perpetrated  between  Jubbulpore 
and  Nagpore,  which  eclipsed  all  previous  exploits  of  the 
kind.  A treasure-chest  under  escort  of  an  English  officer 
and  twenty  sepoys  was  lured  into  an  ambuscade  and 
slaughtered  to  a man.  Except  during  the  great  Mutiny, 
it  was  rarely  that  the  native  had  dared  to  raise  his  hand 
against  the  life  of  the  white  man,  and  it  was  regarded  as  a 
striking  instance  of  Shere  Ali’s  audacity  that  he  should 
have  ventured  to  slay  a Feringee.  For  that  he  was  the 
author  of  this  crime  none  doubted,  although  none  of  the 
luckless  escort  lived  to  tell  the  tale  of  their  disaster.  Even 
in  the  worst  days  of  Thuggee,  the  votaries  of  Bohwanee 
had  never  ventured  to  cast  the  dastardly  rummel  around 
the  throat  of  the  white  man.  Nor  had  the  dacoits  pre- 
viously ever  ventured  to  attack  the  dominant  race.  It  had 
been  the  proud  boast  before  the  terrible  outbreak  of  Fifty- 
Seven,  that  an  English  lady  could  travel  all  through  the 
Indian  Peninsula  with  no  further  escort  than  her  native 


SIIERE  ALI  VANISHES. 


279 

servants  in  perfect  safety.  No  wonder  that  a cry  for 
vengeance  went  forth  against  this  wholesale  murderer,  and 
the  press,  both  English  and  native,  was  unanimous  in 
demanding  the  life  of  Shere  Ali.  For  once  the  blood- 
thirsty dacoit  had  committed  not  only  an  atrocious  crime 
but  a grave  blunder.  The  massacred  sepoys  were  recruited 
from  the  Presidency,  and  had  friends  and  relatives  scat- 
tered far  and  wide  through  the  country  which  Shere  Ali 
had  chosen  for  the  scene  of  his  operations — none  quicker 
to  see  this  than  the  Colonel  of  the  Rifles. 

“ The  beggar  has  overreached  himself  this  time,  Hobson. 
Some  of  the  dead  men’s  relatives  are  sure  to  betray  him 
sooner  or  later.  As  for  there  being  no  witness  to  his  last 
crime,  that  doesn’t  matter — we’ve  enough  against  Shere 
Ali  to  hang  him  three  times  over.”  And  so  the  fiat  went 
forth  that  Shere  Ali  was  to  be  hunted  down,  and  once 
more  patrols  of  mounted  infantry  and  cavalry  were  de- 
spatched to  scour  the  country. 

“ Remember,”  thundered  the  fiery  old  Commander-in- 
Chief  at  Madras,  “ I will  have  that  man  dead  or  alive,  and 
you  will  march  to  and  fro  through  the  land  like  so  many 
wandering  Jews  till  you  get  him.” 

“ Gad,  Charlie,”  said  Hobson,  when  that  speech  reached 
his  ears,  “ it  is  devoutly  to  be  hoped  that  some  of  us  will 
lay  hold  of  him  before  long,  for  Sir  Timothy  is  a man  of 
his  word,  and  that  means  dacoit-hunting  for  life.”  So 
once  more  the  roads  were  scoured  in  all  directions,  villages 
searched,  and  heavy  rewards  offered  for  any  intelligence 
that  might  lead  to  the  arrest  of  Shere  Ali,  but  again  that 
mysterious  personage  had  disappeared.  One  thing  only 
was  to  be  ascertained  concerning  him,  namely,  that  he 
had  dismissed  the  main  body  of  his  followers  for  the 
present,  and  retired  with  only  a few  of  the  most  trusted 
to  his  stronghold  ; but  where  that  stronghold  was  no  man 
apparently  could  tell ; it  was  rumoured  that  the  secret  of 
its  whereabouts  was  jealously  guarded  and  utterly  unknown 
to  the  bulk  of  his  band,  only  a few  well-tried  retainers  being 
aware  of  its  locality — ruffians  for  the  most  part  as  deeply 
blood-stained  as  himself. 

But  the  patrolling  and  vigilant  search  for  Shere 


2§0 


SADDLE  AND  SABRR 


ceased  nowhere  upon  that  account.  “ Sooner  or  later  his 
necessities  will  compel  the  tiger  to  leave  his  lair/*  argued 
the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Presidency,  ‘‘  and  th^  will 
come  the  hunter’s  opportunity.” 

■ ■ I - .1  , , 

XXXIX. — An  Enemy  Hath  Done  this  Thing. 

Dick  KYNASTON  was  not  the  .man  to  await  the  tide 
of  events  upon  finding  himself  involved  in  an  awk- 
ward scandal.  Innocent  though  he  was,  he  saw  at  once 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  make  the  world  believe  that  he 
had  no  knowledge  of  his  partner’s  practices.  One  thing 
however  was  quite  clear  to  him,  that  there  was  no  time  to 
be  lost  in  publicly  repudiating  all  partnership  with  Fur- 
zedon  in  racing  matters.  No  one  would  believe  that  he 
was  not  implicated  in  the  affair  unless  he  broke  off  all  rela- 
tions with  Furzedon.  Indeed,  as  the  Major  pondered  over 
Norman  Slade’s  story,  the  more  indignant  he  became  that 
he  should  have  been  such  a mere  puppet  in  the  hands  of 
his  clever  young  friend.  What,  he,  the  knowing  Dick 
Kynaston,  the  shrewd  man  about  town,  who  knew  the 
ropes,  who  was  up  to  every  move  on  the  board — he  to  be 
hoodwinked  by  this  young  pawnbroker,  and  find  himself 
mixed  up  in  one  of  the  most  shameful  Turf  robberies  he 
had  ever  heard  of!  He  would  ask  Mr.  Furzedon  to  call 
upon  him  for  the  last  time,  give  him  a piece  of  his  mind, 
and  tell  him  that  in  future  they  would  be  strangers  to  each 
other. 

The  Major  gradually  churned  himself  up  to  a very  pretty 
state  of  indignation.  Although  by  no  means  particular,  he 
was  honestly  angry  that  he  should  have  unwittingly  become 
involved  in  such  an  ugly  scrape  as  this  promised  to  become. 
He  was  quite  aware  that  his  own  racing  career  had  not 
been  of  that  blameless  chivalric  nature  at  which  no  stone 
can  be  thrown.  He  was  reputed  a sharp  practitioner,  and 
the  world  cannot  pretend  to  decide  where  such  gentlemen 
draw  the  Une.  Straight-going  humdrum  folks  fail  to  see, 


AN  ENEMY  HATH  DONE  THIS  THING, 


281 


much  difference  between  what  is  termed  ‘‘  picking  people 
up,”  by  which  is  meant  taking  advantage  of  them,  and 
picking  pockets,  and  the  Major,  although  his  code  of 
morality  was  otherwise,  recognised  this  feeling.  But,  per- 
haps, what  moved  his  wrath  more  than  anything  was  the 
blow  to  his  self-love,  the  idea  that  he  should  have  been  so 
completely  overreached  by  a young  gentleman  whom  he 
certainly  deemed  astute,  but  no  sort  of  match  for  knowing 
Dick  Kynaston,  and  yet  he  had  been  bamboozled  into 
playing  jackal  to  this  young  money-lender.  He  could  not 
help  showing  his  indignation  in  his  letter,  although  when 
he  sat  down  to  pen  his  note  to  Furzedon,  asking  him  to 
call  the  next  morning,  as  he  wanted  to  see  him  on  a matter 
of  business,  nothing  was  further  from  his  intention. 

These  temperate  epistles  we  pen  in  our  hot  wrath  are  not 
read  quite  in  the  same  light  by  their  recipients,  and  if  we 
only  keep  them  till  the  next  morning  we  should  usually 
modify  them  considerably.  I recollect  submitting  a studi- 
ously worded  missive  of  this  description  to  a friend,  and 
exclaiming  triumphantly  with  reference  to  the  offender,  ‘‘  he 
can’t  say  anything  about  that.”  My  friend’s  eye  twinkled 
as  he  replied,  “ Only  that  there’s  a good  deal  of  east  wind 
in  it.” 

Now  this  was  exactly  what  struck  Furzedon  when  he 
read  the  Major’s  note.  Dick  Kynaston  was  wont  to  write 
in  an  ofif-hand  jovial  fashion,  but  this  time  Ralph  saw  at 
a glance  that  the  language  was  iced.  “ I wonder  what  the 
deuce  is  up,”  he  muttered,  ‘‘  there  is  a screw  loose  some- 
where, and  Kynaston  evidently  thinks  I am  to  blame  for  it. 
I don’t  want  to  break  with  the  Kynastons,  more  especially 
with  the  lady.  She  has  been  of  some  service  to  me  already 
in  a social  way.  She  has  given  me  several  useful  intro- 
ductions, to  say  nothing  of  hints.  She  understands  the 
game  of  society  so  thoroughly,  I would  sooner  trust  to  her 
advice  than  that  of  any  one  in  England.  She  fyrst  made 
me  understand  that  to  a man  with  money,  tact,  and  a 
pretty  wife,  all  society  is  attainable.  What  can  have  gone 
wrong  ; for  that  the  Major  thinks  I’ve  ‘ upset  the  coach  ’ is 
evident  in  every  line  of  his  letter  ?”  Ralph  Furzedon  made 
bis  way  to  the  Major’s  house  next  day,  and  was  promptly 


282 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


shown  into  Kynaston's  sanctum.  He  was  a little  surprised  at 
the  Major’s  curt  “ good  morning,”  and  saw  at  a glance  that 
gentleman  was  seriously  disturbed,  and  meant  coming  to 
the  point  with  scant  preamble ; so,  like  the  astute  young 
man  he  was,  Furzedon  asked  no  questions,  but  left  his 
companion  to  open  the  ball. 

“ I have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Furzedon ” commenced 

Kynaston,  with  considerable  hauteur. 

Sent  for  me.  Major  Kynaston  ? What  the  devil  do  you 
mean  ?”  interposed  Ralph  sharpJy. 

If  you  will  be  good  enough  not  to  interrupt  me  you 
will  know  in  five  minutes,”  was  the  equally  sharp  rejoinder. 

In  the  first  place  I am  credibly  informed  that,  instead  of 
being  an  idle  man-about-town  living  on  your  own  means, 
you  are  in  reality  a money-lender.” 

“ Even  if  that  were  so,  which  I don’t  admit,  I should 
fancy  there  was  nothing  in  the  position  to  shock  Major 
Kynaston,”  replied  Furzedon  sarcastically. 

I am  not  in  the  least  shocked.  I know  half  the  money- 
lenders in  London,  but  I don’t  associate  with  them.  Do 
you  understand  ?” 

“ Perfectly ; though  I do  not  see  how  your  remark 
applies  to  me.” 

‘‘  Don’t  you  ?”  returned  Kynaston.  ‘‘  Then  I will  put  it 
a little  plainer  to  you.  I no  longer  intend  to  be  on  visiting 
terms  with  Mr.  Furzedon,  alias  Jordan  & Co.” 

Furzedon  winced,  but  his  hardihood  did  not  as  yet  fail 
him.  “ And  who  dares  to  say  that  I am  Jordan  & Co.  ?” 
One  who  seems  to  have  a good  deal  more  than  that  to 
allege  against  you — Norman  Slade.” 

“ Norman  Slade  !”  ejaculated  Furzedon,  as  the  scene  in 
the  Paddock  at  Epsom  shot  athwart  his  brain.  What  the 
deuce  does  Norman  Slade  know  about  me  ?” 

He  knows  who  you  are,  and  what  you  are,”  replied 
Kynaston  sternly.  He  knows  that  you  hocussed  Bill 
Smith  at  Epsom,  and  means  that  all  the  world  shall  know 
it  too.” 

“ If  he  dares  to  bring  such  a charge  against  me,” 
blustered  Furzedon,  starting  to  his  feet,  “ I’ll  prosecute  him 
ior  libel” 


AN  ENEMY  HATH  DONE  THIS  THING.  283 


“ Then  you’ll  precious  soon  have  the  opportunity.  He 
intends  to  bring  your  case  before  the  Jockey  Club  at  once, 
and  has  vowed  not  to  rest  till  you’re  warned  oflf  the  Heath.” 
“ Let  him.  Giving  a jockey  a glass  of  wine  is  not 
hocussing  him.  A fig  for  Norman  Slade  and  his  threats; 
he  will  find  that  charge  rather  difficult  to  substantiate.” 

“ He  says  not,”  rejoined  Kynaston,  “ and  he  is  not  the 
man  to  say  so  unless  he  has  full  proof  of  it.  I have  given 
you  due  warning  of  what  is  in  store  for  you — henceforth 
remember  we  are  strangers  to  each  other.” 

“As  you  like,”  sneered  Furzedon  ; “but  you  seem  to 
forget  that  you  made  as  good  a thing  out  of  Bill  Smith’s 
drunkenness  as  I did.” 

“ I bet  against  a jockey  who  is  unfit  to  ride  as  I do 
against  a horse  who  is  unfit  to  run,  but  I don’t  take  part  in 
bringing  about  that  state  of  things  ! ” 

“ And  you  mean  to  say  that  I do  ?”  exclaimed  Furzedon 
angrily. 

“ I say  nothing  about  it,  one  way  or  another,  and  have 
nothing  further  to  add  but — good  morning ;”  and  as  he 
spoke  Kynaston  rang  the  bell,  and  made  his  visitor  a formal 
bow  of  dismissal. 

For  an  instant  the  blood  surged  in  Furzedoo’s  temples, 
and  he  felt  a fierce  inclination  to  spring  upon  Kynaston  ; 
but  mastering  his  passion  by  a violent  effort,  he  turned  on 
his  heel,  and  abruptly  left  the  room  without  recognising  his 
host’s  salutation. 

When  Furzedon  reached  the  street,  he  began  to  think 
seriously  over  this  disaster  that  had  befallen  him.  He 
had  blustered  and  denied  everything  to  Dick  Kynaston  ; 
but,  for  all  that,  the  charges  were  true,  and  he  could  see 
that  the  Major  believed  them  to  be  so.  The  mere  fact  of 
being  proclaimed  a money-lender  would,  he  knew,  damn 
him  socially ; nor  was  he  at  all  certain  that  Norman  Slade 
would  fail  in  proving  the  charge  he  intended  to  bring 
against  him : he  had  employed  men  to  lead  the  great 
jockey  to  his  destruction.  Ralph  Furzedon  had  seen  a 
good  deal  of  the  dirty  side  of  life  ; it  was  not  the  first  time 
he  had  used  men  as  tools  to  effect  his  purposes ; and  he 
knew  what  such  confederates  were  worth.  Paid  to  do  the 


284 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


work  with  which  their  employer  fears  to  soil  his  own  fingers, 
they  are  prompt  to  sell  him  afterwards  to  any  one  who  will 
buy  their  information.  Ah  ! why  had  his  nerve  failed  him 
at  the  last  moment  ? These  men  had  done  their  work  well 
and  sufficiently,  but  he  was  afraid,  he  stood  so  much  money 
against  Belisarius  that  his  heart  failed  him ; he  determined 
to  make  assurance  doubly  sure.  Just  those  few  drops  in 
the  last  glass  would  effectually  madden  the  man’s  already 
heated  brain,  and  destroy  all  judgment ; but  it  put  him — 
Furzedon — terribly  in  the  hands  of  his  myrmidons,  who, 
dexterously  as  it  was  done,  could  not  fail  to  see  it.  How 
had  this  all  come  against  him  at  once  ? It  was  so  many 
months  back,  that  he  had  thought  all  danger  of  discovery 
was  over.  Then,  again,  how  did  Norman  Slade  learn 
that  he  traded  in  money  under  the  name  of  Jordan  & Co.? 
That  was  a secret  he  had  jealously  guarded.  He  had 
thought  that  known  only  to  the  confidential  clerk  who 
acted  as  his  representative ; and,  as  far  as  he  could  feel 
certain  about  any  one,  he  was  of  that  man’s  fidelity  and 
discretion. 

Where  had  Slade  acquired  this  information?  Those 
myrmidons  of  his  might  have  been  bribed  to  betray  the 
story  of  the  great  Epsom  race  ; but  of  his  money-dealing 
they  had  no  knowledge.  How  had  that  closely  kept  secret 
come  to  light  ? And,  for  the  present,  Ralph  Furzedon  was 
utterly  at  a loss  to  even  suspect  who  it  was  that  had 
divulged  the  mystery  of  his  occupation.  But  he  was  at  no 
loss  to  recognise  the  danger  of  his  position,  and  his  brain 
was  already  busily  scheming  as  to  how  it  was  best,  how  it 
was  possible,  to  meet  these  unpleasant  revelations.  He  ran 
no  risk  of  being  entrapped  by  the  meshes  of  the  law,  but 
his  social  ostracism  was  imminent.  As  a pawnbroker,  and 
perpetrator  of  an  infamous  Turf  robbery,  that  world  he  so 
coveted  to  mix  with  would  have  none  of  him,  and  this  to 
Furzedon  meant  the  loss  of  all  he  deemed  life  worth  living 
for — the  end  of  his  ambition  ; to  figure  in  that  world,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  in  some  wise  pull  the  strings  of  it,  to 
know  of  the  skeletons  in  the  cupboard  and  look  cynically 
on  the  raree  show — and  what  men  know  more  of  these  last 
than  usurers  and  solicitors  ? — all  that  would  have  delighted 


AN  ENEMY  HATH  DONE  THIS  THING.  2S$ 


Furzedon.  Well,  there  was  no  necessity  for  it  as  yet,  for  he 
supposed  the  best  way  out  of  the  embroglio  would  be  to  go 
abroad  for  a time  ; stories  of  this  sort  speedily  blew  over  ; 
and,  unless  the  affair  was  kept  constantly  before  it,  in  a week 
or  two  the  world  would  cease  to  talk  about  it.  Norman 
Slade,  too,  would  be  checkmated  about  that  Epsom  busi- 
ness ; it  would  be  little  use  bringing  such  a charge  against 
a man  who  had  crossed  the  Channel,  and  Furzedon  felt 
that  he  should  get  out  of  the  scrape  cheaply  at  the  expense 
of  a few  months’  absence  from  London.  Better  for  him 
that  the  charge  should  be  dropped  than  brought,  even  if 
not  substantiated. 

One  thing,  however,  puzzled  Furzedon  much ; he  could 
not  conceive  how  it  was  that  his  identity  with  Jordan  & 
Co.  had  leaked  out ; there  was  no  one  whom  he  could 
suspect,  for,  strange  to  say,  that  Prance  might  have  be- 
trayed him  never  entered  his  head.  His  relations  with 
that  worthy  had  been  so  long  dropped,  and  he  so  rarely 
encountered  him,  that  he  had  forgotten  that  Prance  knew 
all  the  history  of  his  past  life  ; but  he  swore  a great  oath 
of  vengeance  against  the  man  who  had  proclaimed  the  fact 
that  he  was  a pawnbroker  and  a usurer  should  he  ever 
discover  it.  And,  though  in  his  first  surprise  at  finding 
Norman  Slade  so  accurately  informed  as  to  his  antecedents. 
Prance  had  not  occurred  to  him  as  the  informant ; still, 
sooner  or  later,  it  was  pretty  certain  to  flash  across  him, 
and  then  it  was  likely  that  vow  would  be  kept  with  ruthless 
exactitude. 

He  had  regained  his  chambers,  and  was  still  pondering 
over  all  these  things,  when  his  servant  brought  in  a pen- 
cilled note,  which  he  handed  to  him  with  the  intimation 
that  the  gentleman  was  waiting.  Furzedon  glanced  hastily 
at  the  note,  and  muttered  to  himself,  “ Sturgeon  ! now 
what  on  earth  can  bring  him  here  ? ” He  might  well  ask, 
for  Mr.  Jacob  Sturgeon  was  the  confidential  and  personal 
representative  of  Jordan  & Co.,  and  his  visiting  Furzedon’s 
rooms  was  strictly  interdicted.  As  the  latter  knew,  it 
must  be  something  of  considerable  importance  that  led 
him  to  disregard  his  instructions  on  that  point. 

^ Show  him  up,”  said  Furzedon  ; and  in  another  minute 


286 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Mr.  Sturgeon  entered  the  room — a plump,  quietly-dressed, 
prosperous  man  of  business. 

“ I am  sorry  to  intrude,  sir ; but,  as  you  can  easily  guess, 
it  is  a matter  of  importance  that  has  made  me  disobey 
orders — a circumstance  I thought  you  should  be  made 
acquainted  with  without  loss  of  time.*’ 

“Yes,  yes!”  said  Furzedon,  impatiently.  “Get  on; 
what  is  it  ? ” 

“ Well,  sir,”  replied  Mr.  Sturgeon,  “ we’ve  had  rather  an 
awkward  scene  up  at  the  office.  A Major  Braddock  called 
in  about  those  bills  of  young  Devereux’s.  He  pointed  out 
that  Mr.  Devereux  was  in  India,  and  therefore,  for  the 
present,  quite  out  of  our  reach  ; but  that  his  friends  were 
anxious  to  come  to  terms  with  us,  and  that  he  was  em- 
powered to  agree  to  any  reasonable  composition.” 

“Ha!”  exclaimed  Furzedon;  “I  thought  they  would 
be  glad  to  come  to  terms  before  long.  And  you,  what  did 
you  say  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! sir,”  replied  Sturgeon,  smiling,  “ I told  them  the 
old  story — that  for  money  lent  upon  next  to  no  security,  as 
Mr.  Devereux’s  was,  we  claimed,  and  expected  to  get, 
heavy  interest ; that  there  were  also  legal  expenses ; that 
I would  submit  what  he  said  to  my  principals ; but  that  I 
could  hold  forth  no  hope  of  their  foregoing  their  claims ; 
that  we  could  afford  to  wait ; that,  though  Mr.  Devereux  had 
been  unfortunate,  we  knew  him  to  be  a gentleman,  and  felt 
perfect  confidence  in  his  eventually  meeting  his  liabilities.” 

“ Quite  right,”  replied  Furzedon  ; “ and  what  did  Major 
Braddock  say  to  that  ? ” 

“ Well,  he  astonished  me  not  a little,  sir.  As  a matter 
of  course,  I looked  upon  it  as  only  delicate  fencing  for  the 
best  terms  on  either  side ; but  Major  Braddock  suddenly 
interrupted  me  with  ‘ Stop  all  the  clap-trap  of  youj  class ; 
we  happen  to  know  who  your  principal  is  ; we  know  who 
it  is  that  trades  in  usury  under  the  name  of  Jordan  & Co. ; 
we  know  all  about  the  pawnbroker’s  shop  in  the  next  street, 
and  are  quite  prepared  to  go  into  court  if  you  don’t  make 
fair  terms  with  us.’  I rejoined  that,  if  compelled  to  it,  I 
didn’t  suppose  that  my  principals  would  object  to  that  way 
of  coming  by  their  owi^” 


A MUTUAL  UNDERSTANDlNa  sSf 

Ah!  and  what  did  he  say  to  that  ? ” inquired  Fuixe- 
don,  eagerly. 

^ “ Ma^r  Braddock,”  replied  Sturgeon,  took  me  up, 

sharp.  ‘ You  mistake,’  he  said,  ‘ your  principal — ^for  you' 
have  only  one — would  be  very  unwilling  to  go  into  tbe^^ 
witness-box ; he  is  a good  young  man,  and  loth  that  hi^ 
left  should  know  what  his  right  hand  is  doing.  No,  nofc 
Ralph  Furzedon  don’t  wish  to  figure  before  his  friends  and 
acquaintances  in  his  real  character.  No  ; the  sooner  you. 
let  him  know  that  we  are  aware  of  who  we  are  dealing  mth 
the  better.’  ” 

“ And  that  was  all  that  passed  between  you  ? ” asked 
Furzedon. 

“ Pretty  well,  sir,”  rejoined  Sturgeon  ; ‘‘  I told  him 
politely  he  was  mistaken,  but  he  only  rejoined,  more 
briefly  than  civilly,  ‘ Not  much,’  threw  his  card  on  the 
table,  and  left  the  place.” 

‘‘Quite  right  to  come  and  tell  me,”  said  Furzedon. 
“You  have,  of  course,  no  idea  how  he  came  by  his 
knowledge  ? ” 

“ No,  sir  ; I could  have  sworn  that  nobody  either  at  the 
shop  or  the  offices  had  any  idea  who  Jordan  & Co.  were, 
except  myself,  and  the  secret  has  never  passed  my  lips.** 

“Thank  you;  that  will  do,”  replied  Fur25edon. 

Major  Braddock  calls  again,  stick  to  it  that  he  is  mistaken*. 
Don’t  come  here  again  unless  you  think  it  absolutely 
necessary,”  and,  with  a careless  nod,  Furzedon  intimated 
to  Mr.  Sturgeon  that  his  interview  was  at  an  end. 


XL. — Mutual  Uin>SRSTA»i>iNa« 

O ALLOA,  Bertie  I where  have  you  been  all  the  mom- 
ing;  under  what  pretence  have  you  been  evading 
your  military  duties  ? Allow  me  to  congratulate  you,” 
exclaimed  young  Sparshot. 

“ I’ve  been  on  a board  on  forage ; but  I don’t  see  that 
that’s  a particular  subject  for  congratulation,” 


288 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Slade,  as  he  took  a chair  in  the  mess-room,  and  prepared 
to  assuage  the  hunger  that  his  morning’s  work  had  created. 

“ Then  you’ve  heard  nothing  about  Tom  Henderson’s 
letter,  although  it  specially  concerns  you  ? *’ 

“ Not  a word,”  replied  Bertie  ; “ what  has  Tom  got  to 
say  ? ” 

“ First  of  all,”  rejoined  young  Sparshot,  **  Tom  has  met 
his  Fate ; and,  as  his  Fate  happens  to  be  possessed  of 
more  dollars  than  a Hussar  ever  dreamt  of,  he  is  going  to 
sell  out,  and  that  gives  you  your  troop.  Captain  Slade.” 

“ We  shall  all  be  sorry  to  lose  Henderson,”  said  Bertie, 
^ but  promotion  is  promotion,  and  in  this  case  we  have 
only  to  congratulate  him  on  his  retirement ; but  what  is 
this  other  news  ? ” 

“ Well,  for  some  inscrutable  reason,  it  seems  the  authori- 
ties have  decided  to  send  us  out  to  India  at  once,  instead 
of  in  the  autumn.” 

You  don’t  mean  that ! ” exclaimed  Slade ; unless 
they’ve  good  grounds,  it  is  rather  rough  upon  us  all.  It’i 
always  a bad  business  having  to  dispose  of  horses  in  a 
hurry.” 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Sparshot ; “ the  end  of  the  hunting 
season,  and  all  the  officers  of  Her  Majesty’s  — th  Hussars 
are  likely,  I am  afraid,  to  have  a bad  sale.” 

Bertie  Slade  was  not  a little  taken  aback  by  the  news  of 
the  sudden  order  for  India.  He  knew  very  well  what  this 
meant.  That  for  the  few  weeks  left  to  them  there  would 
be  plenty  of  work  to  be  done;  that  every  officer’s  hands 
would  be  full,  and  leave  of  absence  difficult  to  obtain  ; and 
yet  he  felt  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  him  to  pay 
a short  visit  to  London.  He  had  written,  as  we  know,  to 
Mrs.  Connop,  and  in  his  letter  had  vaguely  told  her  that  a 
very  serious  charge  was  likely  to  be  advanced  against 
Ralph  Furzedon,  and  delicately  hinted  that  she  would  do 
well  to  suspend  further  intimacy  with  him  until  she  heard 
the  result.  He  did  not  like  to  speak  more  plainly  ; but  his 
meaning  was  that  Miss  Devereux,  to  whom  he  firmly 
believed  Furzedon  to  be  engaged,  should  pause  before 
uniting  herself  to  a man  whom  a few  weeks  might  see 
gogially  blasted.  lie  bad  not  liked  to  particularise  the 


A MUTUAL  UNDERSTANDING. 


28g 


offence  of  which  Furzedon  had  been  guilty,  and  to  attempt 
interference  in  the  slightest  degree  with  Miss  Devereux’s 
matrimonial  intentions  was,  he  felt,  quite  out  of  his  pro- 
vince ; and  yet,  knowing  as  he  did  from  his  Uncle  Norman 
the  story  of  Furzedon’s  life,  he  felt  it  was  impossible  that 
he  could  look  on  and  see  the  girl  he  passionately  loved 
married  to  such  a scoundrel.  Lettie  Devereux  need  never 
fear  about  him  ; he  might  be  destined  never  to  win  her  for 
his  wife,  but  for  all  that,  surely  he  ought  not  to  let  her  con- 
tract this  marriage  in  ignorance ; surely  no  money  could 
compensate  for  the  utter  Joss  of  position  which  awaited 
Ralph  Furzedon.  He  had  not  intended  to  speak  more 
plainly.  A very  little,  and  the  accusation  would  be  publicly 
proclaimed  in  the  press ; but,  now  he  was  going  to 
India,  it  might  not  be  brought  forward  till  after  his  depar- 
ture. There  was  delay  sometimes  about  these  things ; 
and  it  was  possible  that  the  knowledge  might  come  to 
Miss  Devereux  too  late. 

Bertie’s  serious  face  was  the  cause  of  not  a little  chaff 
from  his  gay  companions ; as  young  Sparshot  said,  Slade 
was  the  only  man  who  apparently  appreciated  the  gravity 
of  the  situation.  “ He’ll  chill  the  very  marrow  in  our 
bones  directly.  I can  see  he  is  just  about  to  begin,  with 
mocking  laughter : 

* Ah  1 know  ye  the  land  of  the  sepoy  and  tiger, 

And  the  terrible  pranks  that  they  play  in  that  clime.*  ** 

Bertie  laughed  as  he  rose.  “ One  would  have  thought, 
Spar,”  he  said,  “ that  the  * terrible  pranks  * were  thrashed 
out  of  the  sepoy  during  the  Mutiny  times  ; but,  according 
6o  Charlie  Devereux,  there  are  some  of  them  still  untamed. 
No,  I’ve  got  a few  things  I want  to  settle  before  I start, 
and  I’m  rather  bothered  about  how  to  do  it.”  And  so 
saying  Bertie  left  the  room. 

“ Yes,”  he  thought,  when  he  reached  his  own  quarters, 
“there  is  no  help  for  it ; I must  run  up  to  town,  see  Mrs. 
Connop,  and  tell  her  the  whole  story ; if  she  thinks  fit  to 
let  her  niece  marry  a man  with  such  a chaige  hanging  over 
him,  I can  do  no  more.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  speak 
to  Lettie  herself ; though  how,  in  spite  of  his  money,  she 


290 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


could  accept  such  a cad  as  Furzedon  I**  And  here  Bertie 
Slade  wound  up  his  train  of  thought  by  discharging  a 
volley  of  maledictions  against  that  gentleman, 

Bertie  Slade  easily  obtained  the  short  leave  he  ventured 
to  ask  for.  He  had  a good  many  things  to  do  in  town 
besides  his  interview  with  Mrs.  Connop.  He  was  anxious 
to  see  his  Uncle  Norman,  to  ascertain  when  this  business 
of  Furzedon’s  would  be  brought  forward.  And  Major 
Braddock  he  also  wanted  to  talk  ivith,  partly  on  his  own 
account  and  partly  concerning  Charlie  Devereux’s.  Major 
Braddock,  howevc/,  he  felt  certain  of  seeing  before  he 
sailed.  The  Major  retained  the  greatest  possible  interest 
in  his  old  regiment,  and  was  little  likely  to  let  them  sail 
for  the  East  without  coming  down  to  Portsmouth  to 
witness  their  embarkation.  The  settlement  of  Charlie’s 
debts  had  been  left  to  the  discretion  of  Bob  Braddock ; 
and  Bertie  was  in  ignorance  of  what  steps  the  Major  had 
lately  taken  about  their  settlement.  The  last  time  he  had 
heard  from  his  Ujicle  Bob  that  gentleman  had  assured  him 
there  was  no  liurry,  that  the  less  they  troubled  about  it  the 
more  likely  an  advantageous  offer  was  to  come  from  the 
other  side.  But  the  Major  was  now  acquainted  with  the 
identity  of  Jordan  & Co.,  and  Bertie  thought  that  would 
probably  change  his  tactics. 

However,  the  day  after  his  arrival  in  town,  at  the  earliest 
canonical  hour  permissible  for  calling,  Gilbert  Slade  made 
his  way  into  Onslow  Gardens.  “ Mrs.  Connop  was  at 
home,”  he  was  told,  in  answer  to  his  inquiry.  And  with- 
out more  ado  he  was  ushered  up  into  the  drawing-room, 
where,  to  his  great  astonishment,  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Lettie  Devereux.  The  situation  was  awkward. 
What  he  had  to  say  he  could  neither  say  to  Miss  Devereux 
nor  before  her.  And  yet  that  say  it  he  would  he  was 
doggedly  determined.  Lettie  rose  to  receive  him ; and, 
^Hhough  taken  by  surprise  as  well  as  himself,  yet  she  masked 
her  feelings  well.  Her  heart  beat  quickly,  but  her  chance 
= had  come ; and  come  what  might  it  should  go  hard  if 
before  he  left  she  had  not  disabused  Mr.  Slade’s  mind  of 
any  idea  that  she  was  engaged  to  Mr.  Furzedon.  Mrs. 
Connop  had  not  destroyed  Bertie's  note,  and  Miss  Deve** 


A MUTUAL  UNDERSTANDING. 


291 


reux  had  had  little  difficulty  in  persuading  her  aunt  to 
allow  her  to  see  it.  She  read  between  the  lines  easily 
enough,  and  laughed  as  she  said,  “ I think.  Auntie  dear, 
this  letter  was  meant  more  for  me  than  for  you,  and  has 
been  written,  I have  no  doubt,  under  a very  mistaken  idea.’* 
And  Mrs.  Connop  was  far  too  shrewd  a woman  not  to 
think  her  niece  was  taking  a correct  view  of  the  subject. 

“ Charmed  to  see  you,  Mr.  Slade,”  said  Lettie,  as  she 
rose  to  receive  her  visitor.  “Since  poor  Charlie’s  ‘grief’ 
we  have  never  set  eyes  upon  you.  My  aunt  will  be  down 
in  a few  minutes  ” — Miss  Devereux  devoutly  hoped  she 
would  not— “ and  I am  sure  is  dying,  as  we  all  are,  to 
thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  him  in  his  trouble.” 

“ Pray  don’t  mention  it,”  rejoined  Bertie,  “ it’s  one  of 
the  canons  of  the  service  that  we  must  stick  to  each  other  ; 
we  all  did  the  best  we  could  for  Charlie,  but  you  know 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  India.” 

“ I know,”  replied  Lettie,  “ but  I am  afraid  he  finds 
the  life  out  there  very  dull.” 

“Not  a bit  of  it,  Miss  Devereux,”  rejoined  Slade. 
“ Charlie  is  engaged  in  quite  a lively  pursuit  out  there ; he 
and  half  the  soldiers  in  the  Madras  Presidency  apparently 
are  engaged  in  hunting  down  the  craftiest  and  most  mur- 
derous old  robber  that  ever  took  to  the  roads.  This  Shere 
Ali  keeps  them  tramping  continually  up  and  down  the 
Presidency,  and  seems  as  difficult  to  lay  hands  upon  as  a 
Will-o’-the-Wisp.  We  shall  perhaps  get  there  in  time  to 
get  a turn  at  him  too.” 

“ You,  Mr.  Slade  ! Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ Ah ! I forgot  I hadn’t  told  you  we’ve  got  our  orders 
for  India ; and,  as  luck  has  it,  are  going  to  the  same  Pre- 
sidency that  Charlie  is  in.  We  are  off  in  about  three  or 
four  weeks.” 

Then  the  conversation  rather  languished.  These  were 
two  young  people  very  desirous  of  saying  something  to 
each  other,  and  neither  of  them  knowing  exactly  how  to 
begin.  Of  course,  it  was  all  remarkably  simple.  Bertie 
Slade  wished  to  impress  upon  Miss  Devereux  that  she 
really  ought  not  to  marry  Furzedon ; while  the  lady  on 
her  side  was  equally  anxious  to  impress  upon  him  that  she 


292 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  doing  so.  It  is  all  very 
well  to  smile  as  a bystander,  and  say,  Absurd ! These 
people  could  not  fail  to  come  to  an  explanation  at  once.” 
But  have  you  no  experience  of  these  comparatively 
easy  explanations  not  come  to  ? Have  you  never  thought, 
as  you  gained  the  street,  of  the  thing  you  wished  you  had 
said  in  the  drawing-room  ? And  do  not  all  of  us  know  that 
the  explanation  so  easy  at  first  becomes  more  difficult  day 
by  day?  Now,  Lettie  Devereux  had  good  grounds  for 
thinking  that  Bertie  Slade  was  rather  smitten  with  herself, 
and  this  seemed  to  make  it  rather  difficult  for  her  to  volun- 
teer the  information  that  she  was  not  engaged  to  Mr. 
Furzedon.  If  Bertie  would  only  afford  her  the  slightest 
opening  it  would  be  so  easy ; but  then,  Bertie,  on  his  side, 
felt  that  he  could  not  congratulate  her.  And  that  was 
the  only  way  he  could  see  of  alluding  to  what  he  supposed 
to  be  a settled  thing. 

“ You  will  probably  see  Charlie,  then  ? ” said  Miss  Deve- 
reux, at  length,  with  that  usual  disregard  of  the  size  of  the 
country  apt  to  characterise  people  who  have  never  been 
there. 

“ Probably,*'  replied  Bertie,  “ though  it  may  be  some 
time  first  ; and  I have  come  to  say  ‘ good-bye,’  Miss  Deve- 
reux ; and  I have  one  favour  to  ask  you  before  I go.  I 
wrote  a note  a short  time  ago  to  Mrs.  Connop.  I don’t 
know  whether  she  showed  it  to  you,  but,  at  all  events  I 
hope  she  will.” 

“ I have  seen  it,”  interrupted  Lettie.  Still,  what  have 
I to  do  with  it  ? ” 

“ I only  want  you  to  believe  that  I am  quite  certain  of 
what  I say  in  it,  and  that  I am  not  merely  detailing  idle 
gossip.” 

“ As  I said  before,  I really  don’t  see  anything  in  it  that 
concerns  me.” 

Gilbert  Slade  was  troubled.  It  was  evident  that  he 
could  depend  upon  no  help  from  Miss  Devereux.  It  was 
possible  that  she  might  indignantly  refuse  to  listen  to  any 
imputation  on  her  lover.  But  Bertie  was  resolute  to 
speak  out. 

“ I should  have  thought,”  he  remarked,  **  that  you  could 


A MUTUAL  UNDERSTANDING. 


m 


not  be  indifferent  to  hearing  that  any  one  you  had  lived 
upon  friendly  terms  with  ran  the  risk  of  being  brought  to 
shame,  I have  no  wish  to  discuss  it,  but  I thought  that 
as  he  had  stayed  at  North  Leach,  and  was  intimate  with 
you  all,  you  ought  to  know  it/' 

“ Why  ought  I to  know  it  ? " exclaimed  Miss  Devereux, 
indignantly.  “ Why  will  you  keep  insisting  that  this 
specially  concerns  me  ? If  Mr.  Furzedon  has  done  any- 
thing disgraceful,  surely  my  father  or  my  brothers  are  the 
people  you  ought  to  communicate  with.” 

It  is  very  rarely  that  loss  of  temper  conduces  to  promote 
a good  understanding  between  people  who  are  at  cross 
purposes.  But  Miss  Devereux’s  natural  exasperation 
somewhat  cleared  the  air,  and  dispersed  the  fog  in  which 
they  were  both  rapidly  losing  themselves.  Bertie,  like 
herself,  was  now  not  a little  nettled,  and  it  was  somewhat 
sharply  that  he  retorted,  “ I can  only  say  that,  according 
to  rumour,  anything  affecting  Mr.  Furzedon  is  likely  to  be 
more  severely  felt  by  Miss  Devereux  than  by  any  other  of 
her  family.  I suppose  I was  wrong  to  touch  upon  the  sub- 
ject, but  Charlie  and  I were  staunch  friends.” 

“ I know  that,”  rejoined  Lettie,  gently.  “And  you  are 
only  saying  to  me  what  you  would  have  said  to  him,  had 
he  been  in  England.  But  you’re  under  a misapprehen- 
sion, Mr.  Slade.  You  have  heard  an  absurd  and  rather 
annoying  rumour  that  got  about  last  season,  and  for  which, 
believe  me,  there  never  has  been  the  slightest  foundation.” 
“ Do  you  mean  to  say,”  said  Bertie,  eagerly,  “that  there 
is  no  engagement  between  you  and  Mr.  Furzedon  ? ” 

“ Certainly  not ; I hardly  understand  myself  how  the 
rumour  got  about.” 

“ As  far  as  I am  concerned,  I had  it  from  your  own 
brother.” 

“ What,  from  Charlie  ? when  ? ” 

“ Last  spring,  and  that  is  why  I have  regarded  it  as  a 
fact.  When  a young  lady’s  brother  tells  you  the  thing  is 
so,  you  must  admit  your  knowledge  is  derived  from  good 
authority.” 

“Yes,  indeed,”  replied  Miss  Devereux;  “but  who  cm 
earth  could  have  put  that  into  Charlie’s  head  ? I am  per* 


294 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


fectly  sure  \t  never  occurred  to  himself;”  but  here  their 
conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Con- 
nop,  who  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  her  old  favourite 
again,  and  gave  Gilbert  Slade  a most  cordial  welcome. 

‘‘  How  long  are  you  up  in  town  for  ? ” she  asked,  as  she 
settled  herself  in  her  chair, 

“ Mr.  Slade  has  come  to  say  good-bye,  Auntie,”  inter- 
posed Miss  Devereux. 

‘‘  Good-bye,  child  ! why,  he  has  hardly  said  how  d’y® 
do,  and  we  haven’t  seen  him  for  months.  I’ve  got  lots  to  say 
to  you,  Mr.  Slade.  I am  dying  for  a long  gossip  with  you. 
What  day  will  it  suit  you  to  come  out  and  dine  with  us  ? ” 

“ I am  very  sorry,  but  I hardly  think  that  is  possible. 
I have  only  to-night  and  to-morrow  night  in  town,  and 
shall  be  so  busy  all  day  that  dinner  will  have  to  be  a very 
movable  feast  with  me.  There  is,  of  course,  a great  deal 
to  do,  and  we  really  are  oflf  at  once,  and  at  very  short 
notice.” 

Then  the  conversation  became  general,  and  Mrs.  Con- 
nop  was  deeply  interested  in  the  fact  that  the  — th  Hussars 
were  going  to  the  same  Presidency  that  Charlie  was  in, 
and  that  there  was  a possibility  of  that  young  scapegrace 
coming  across  his  old  comrades  once  more.  Then  Mrs. 
Connop,  ever  sanguine,  began  to  speculate  on  the  chances 
of  Charlie  getting  back  to  his  old  corps,  which  she  thought 
might  be  effected  soon  after  the  — th  Hussars  got  out  there, 
and  Gilbert  Slade  had  to  explain  to  her  that  the  War 
Office  people  wouldn’t  stand  quite  such  a rapid  shuffling 
of  the  cards  as  that ; then  Charlie’s  affairs  were  discussed, 
and  Mrs.  Connop  was  very  anxious  to  know  if  any  progress 
had  been  made  in  their  settlement,  and  was  loud  in  her 
expressions  of  gratitude  to  Major  Braddock  for  all  he  had 
done  for  him. 

It  really  is  very  good  of  him  to  trouble  himself  about 
Charlie’s  business  at  all,”  remarked  the  good  lady;  ‘‘in 
fact  he  don’t  deserve  help  or  pity  from  any  one.” 

“ Uncle  Bob  is  a real  good  sort,”  interposed  Slade. 
“ He  took  a fancy  to  your  brother,  you  see,  Miss  Devereux, 
at  first  start,  and  although  I own  he  was  awfully  disgusted 

at  his  having  tQ  teave  the  regunent,  yet  he  is  always  staunch 


CHARLIE'S  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE. 


29S 


and  true  to  those  he  has  once  befriended.  I don’t  know  wha^ 
he  has  done  about  Charlie’s  business,  but  I shall  see  him 
to-night,  and  will  come  down  to-morrow,  and  let  you  know 
all  about  it,  and  now  I must  be  going.” 

“Why,  I’ve  seen  nothing  of  you,”  cried  Mrs.  Connop : 
“ I’ve  not  had  time  to  ask  you  about  this  business  of  Mr. 
Furzedon.” 

“ I don’t  think  there  is  any  necessity  for  me  to  say  any 
more  than  I have  done,”  replied  Slade,  with  a meaning 
glance  at  Lettice ; “ the  papers  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
before  a few  weeks  are  over.  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Connop, 
good-bye.  Miss  Devereux,”  and  as  he  bent  over  her  hand, 
he  said  in  a low  tone,  “You  can’t  think  how  happy  you 
have  made  me,”  and  then,  with  a hearty  invitation  from 
Mrs.  Connop  to  come  to  luncheon  to-morrow,  Gilbert  Slade 
took  his  departure.  Not  half  a score  of  words,  and  yet 
Lettice  Devereux  seemed  quite  as  content  as  if  she  had 
received  a more  explicit  declaration. 


XLI. — Charlie’s  Baptism  of  Fire. 

HARLIE  DEVEREUX  was  once  upon  the  war-path  ; 


and  he  and  his  comrades,  like  baffled  hounds,  grew 


thoroughly  savage  in  the  pursuit  of  that  perplexing  mar- 
auder Shere  Ali.  That  the  famous  dacoit  chief  can  assemble 
some  hundreds  at  his  back  should  he  so  will  was  now  well 
known  to  the  authorities  ; but  that  his  influence  through 
the  Deccan  is  a thing  that  can  be  no  longer  borne  with  is 
a fact  thoroughly  recognised.  It  is  true  he  rarely  gathers 
together  his  followers  in  such  numbers  as  he  can  command  ; 
but  that  he  can  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a most  formid- 
able band  at  two  or  three  days’  notice  is  now  perfectly 
understood.  His  tactics  are  those  of  the  old  Highland 
veterans  in  our  own  country,  who  sallied  forth  upon  their 
roving  expeditions,  sped  homeward  with  their  plunder, 
and  then  rapidly  dispersed. 

Shere  Ali  makes  similar  outbursts  in  unexpected  locali- 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


296 

ties,  and  then,  in  like  manner,  disappears  with  his  booty, 
and  is  apparently  swallowed  up  in  adjacent  jungles.  The 
marauder,  too,  has  acquired  a strange  notoriety  through 
all  that  country.  Information  given  detrimental  to  him- 
self and  his  followers  has  several  times  been  punished  with 
swift  and  singular  barbarity.  The  villagers  are  shy  of  any 
allusion  to  his  whereabouts  or  proceedings ; and  his  bri- 
gandage has  attained  such  an  extensive  scale  as  to  augur 
pitiful  weakness  on  the  part  of  any  government  that  fails 
speedily  to  repress  it.  Even  the  veteran  Hobson  shook 
his  head  over  it,  and  said,  in  the  course  of  his  varied 
experience,  that  Shere  Ali  was  the  most  aggravating  cus- 
tomer he  had  ever  had  to  deal  with. 

“ We  have  come  across  him  once,  Charlie,”  he  said,  as 
they  jogged  along  one  morning  at  the  head  of  their  now 
mounted  men,  “ or  else,  upon  my  word,  I should  begin  to 
think  this  was  quite  a legendary  chieftain  ; but  he  and  his 
rapparees  did  shoot  at  us  once ; and  we  were  very  close 
upon  their  track  a few  hours  afterwards.” 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Charlie  Devereux,  “ and  the  massacre 
of  poor  young  Blades  and  his  escort  was  a startling  proof 
of  Shere  Ali  being  very  much  alive  and  on  the  move ; but 
the  dream  will  come  true,  Hobson,  I know  it  will.  We  shall 
come  up  with  him  at  last ; and  then,  if  I know  anything  of 
the  temper  of  our  fellows,  they  will  be  rather  hard  to  hold. 
They  have  hunted  him  for  many  weary  miles,  and  heard  so 
many  tales  of  the  atrocities  of  himself  and  his  followers, 
that  I don’t  think  there  will  be  much  quarter  given  when 
the  day  of  reckoning  does  come.” 

‘‘No;  nor  asked^''  said  Hobson.  “You  will  see  these 
fellows  will  die  grimly  as  a fox  in  a trap,  and  with  a like 
snarl  upon  their  lips.  But,  halloa ! what  the  deuce  is 
up  ? this  looks  like  business  of  some  sort.”  And,  as  he 
spoke,  Hobson  pointed  to  one  of  the  advance  guard, 
who  was  riding  back  to  them  as  fast  as  his  horse  could 
carry  him. 

“ Now,  Wilson,  what  is  it  ?” 

“ Sergeant  Rivers  sent  me  back,  sir,”  replied  the  soldier, 
as  he  saluted,  “ to  say  that  he  thought  we  were  pretty  close 
upon  these  dacoit  chaps,  this  time.  There’s  a pretty  sight 


CHARLIE'S  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE.  297 

when  you  get  round  the  bend,  sir  and  the  soldier  pointed 
to  the  turn  in  the  road, 

‘‘  Pass  the  word  to  close  up,  and  sound  the  attention, 
bugler,”  said  Hobson.  “ Now,  what’s  round  the  bend, 
Wilson?” 

“ Well,  sir,  we  must  have  pretty  near  caught  these 
scoundrels  at  their  hellish  work  ; there’s  a tolerably  strong 
travelling  party,  some  of  ’em  well-armed,  too,  who  have 
been  massacred  to  a man.  The  sergeant  bid  me  tell  you 
that  he  thought  the  dacoits  must  be  in  considerable  force.” 
“ Bring  them  on  at  a trot,  Devereux,  as  . soon  as  they 
have  closed  up  ; I’m  going  to  gallop  forward  and  see  what 
has  taken  place  yonder.” 

Accompanied  by  a soldier,  Hobson  galloped  forward, 
and  the  minute  he  rounded  the  turn  in  the  road  the  tragedy 
of  the  morning  lay  exposed  to  his  view.  About  a score  of 
men  lay  stretched  upon  the  road,  weltering  in  their  blood  ; 
and  the  whole  scene  was  easy  of  interpretation,  as  the 
sergeant  in  charge  of  the  advance  guard  at  once  pointed 
out  to  Hobson.  “ These  two  men  here  by  the  side  of  the 
road  were  evidently  the  leaders  of  the  party.” 

‘‘  Evidently  Parsee  traders,”  remarked  Hobson,  as  he 
dismounted  from  his  horse,  “ and  the  others,  their  servants 
and  an  escort  of  soldiers,  whom  they  had  hired  to  protect 
them.  They  have  apparently  been  surprised  and  butchered 
to  a man,  without  offering  much  resistance.” 

“Just  so,”  replied  the  sergeant,  “ there  is  a stream  just 
away  to  the  right  here,  and  Shere  Ali’s  people  must  have 
come  upon  them  while  they  were  cooking  their  mid-day 
meal  under  the  trees  there.” 

“ I see  ; and  these  fellows  fled  into  the  open,  and  were 
all  cut  down  before  they  could  make  any  stand  at  all.” 

“ They  weren’t  all  killed  quite  in  that  way,  sir,”  replied 
the  sergeant  drily.  “ This  Baboo  here  was  murdered  in 
cold  blood,  and  tortured  first ; look  at  his  fingers,  sir.” 

“ I see,”  said  Hobson,  “ it’s  an  old  trick  of  theirs,  burnt 
nearly  ofi* ; they’ve  bound  them  in  tow  soaked  with  oil  and 
then  set  fire  to  them ; whether  they’ve  done  it  from  sheer 
devilry,  because  they  didn’t  get  so  much  money  as  they 
expected,  or  quite  a^  likely  to  wring  information  from  him 


298 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


about  his  property,  I don’t  know.  Ha ! the  other  fared 
very  little  better ; you  can  see  the  mark  of  the  cord  round 
his  neck;  they  half  throttled  him  before  they  killed  him.” 
“ We  can’t  have  been  very  far  from  catching  them  in  the 
very  act,  sir,”  said  the  sergeant. 

“ You’re  right.  Rivers,  these  bodies  are  not  yet  cold.  1 
don’t  believe  these  villains  can  be  above  three  or  four 
hours  ahead  of  us,  perhaps  not  even  so  much.” 

The  robbers  had  done  their  work  cleanly.  All  the  ani- 
mals belonging  to  the  murdered  party  they  had  carried  off 
with  them,  and  the  dead  had  been  stripped  of  everything 
valuable  about ^ their  persons.  Nothing  was  left  but  the 
corpses  of  the  two  traders,  their  servants  and  escort,  to  tell 
the  story  of  that  day’s  cruel  work.  By  this  time  the  re- 
mainder of  the  troop  had  come  up,  and  were  surveying  the 
scene  with  critical  eyes.  Old  soldiers,  most  of  them,  who 
had  been  through  the  fell  fighting  of  the  Mutiny,  and  to 
whom  the  sight  of  a field  strewn  with  dead  was  no  novelty. 

“ Not  a wounded  man  amongst  them,”  growled  one  of 
these.  These  devils  give  no  quarter,  and,  if  ever  we  do 

come  up  with  them,  by ” 

“ They  can’t  expect  to  get  it.  Look  at  that,  too,”  and 
the  speaker  and  several  of  his  comrades  gazed  curiously  at 
the  charred  stumps  of  the  hapless  trader’s  fingers. 

“ Now,  Rivers,”  exclaimed  Hobson,  “ I’m  going  to  push 
forward  at  once.  On  you  go,  with  your  advance  guard  ; 
keep  your  eyes  skinned,  and  of  course  fall  back  the  minute 
you  get  touch  of  the  enemy.  I suspect  Shere  Ali  is  at  the 
head  of  a strong  band  this  time.” 

So  little  trouble  had  the  robbers  taken  to  mask  their 
movements  that  the  way  they  had  taken  was  pretty  evi- 
dent. Some  of  the  soldiers,  too,  by  this  time  had  become 
clever  at  scouting,  and  the  best  of  these  were  put  into  the 
advance  guard,  a bare  half-mile  from  the  scene  of  the 
massacre,  and  it  was  evident  that  the  marauders  had  left 
the  main  road  and  struck  across  one  of  the  jungle-trails  to 
the  right. 

It  was  further  pretty  apparent,  from  the  horse-prints, 
that  they  were  in  considerable  numbers.  Hobson  had  no 
doubt  that,  according  to  his  wont,  Shere  Ali,  having  placed 


CHARLIE'S  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE. 


299 


a hundred  miles  or  so  between  himself  and  the  scene  of  his 
crime,  would  disband  his  followers,  with  the  exception  of 
a trusted  few,  and  then  betake  himself  to  his  secret  lurking- 
place,  the  whereabouts  of  which  so  completely  baffled  his 
pursuers;  but  its  secret  was  well  kept,  and,  so  far,  the 
Feringees  had  got  no  hint  of  it.  Hobson  knew  fhat  so 
long  as  he  was  close  upon  the  trail  of  his  foe,  and  that 
Shere  Ali  kept  at  the  head  of  a numerous  band,  he  would 
not  be  difficult  to  follow  ; but  so  soon  as  he  dispersed  his 
rapscallions  there  would  be  great  danger  of  losing  trace 
of  him.  It  had  happened  so  near  half  a dozen  times  to 
patrols  who  deemed  him  within  their  grasp,  and  Hobson 
had  no  doubt  that  upon  the  one  occasion  he  and  Charlie 
Devereux  had  stumbled  upon  the  dacoit  chief,  vShere  Ali 
had  but  a mere  handful  of  men  with  him,  and  thence  the 
ease  with  which  the  wily  Indian  had  evaded  him. 

Keeping  his  men  well  in  hand,  Hobson  plunged  into  the 
jungle  and  followed  fast  in  the  footprints  of  his  flying  foe. 
The  men  were  all  on  the  qiii  vive,  with  both  eyes  and  ears 
alert  for  the  slightest  indication  of  the  robbers.  Every 
man  of  them  knew  that  their  ride  must  be  both  fast  and 
far  to  give  them  any  hope  of  coming  up  with  the  dacoit 
chief.  The  immunity  he  had  so  far  enjoyed  from  the 
penalties  of  his  crimes  had  been  so  far  in  great  measure 
due  to  the  celerity  of  his  movements.  He  and  his  followers 
invariably  fled  from  the  scene  of  their  murderous  exploits 
by  forced  marches,  and  Hobson  and  his  troop  had  been 
too  long  scouring  the  country  in  pursuit  of  him  not  to  know 
that  to  capture  Shere  Ali  involved  beating  him  at  his  own 
tactics. 

Silently  they  went  on  in  the  same  monotonous  jog-trot, 
for  Hobson  had  sternly  ordered  that  there  should  be  no 
talking  in  the  ranks,  and  impressed  upon  his  men  that 
their  march  must  be  conducted  with  as  little  noise  as  pos- 
sible. Mile  after  mile  was  thrown  behind  them,  and  still 
the  advance  guard  reported  “ no  glimpse  of  the  enemy.” 
Still  the  footprints  of  a large  body  of  horses  were  ever  in 
their  front.  Hobson’s  face  wore  an  anxious  expression, 
while  young  Devereux  chafed  inwardly  at  what  he  irrever- 
ently termed  ‘‘  the  slowness  of  his  captain," 


300 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


If  it  had  been  left  to  him,  he  would  have  advanced  at  a 
hand  gallop,  the  result  of  which  would  have  been,  that  if 
he  failed  to  come  up  with  the  foe  in  less  than  two  hours 
the  horses  would  have  been  about  ridden  to  a standstill ; 
while  if  he  did  succeed  in  overtaking  them  his  men  would 
have  laboured  under  the  disadvantage  of  being  upon  half- 
blown  cattle. 

However,  Hobson  had  too  much  experience  to  fall  into 
any  such  error.  If  his  face  wore  a thoughtful  expression 
it  was  because  he  was  calculating  how  much  longer  he 
could  jog  along  at  the  moderate  pace  he  was  going  without 
pulling  up  to  give  men  and  horses  a temporary  rest.  Ex- 
perience had  taught  him  that  the  dacoits  managed  to  do 
with  very  short  halts;  and  he  and  his  men  would  be, 
therefore,  constrained  to  do  the  like.  It  was  likely  to  be  a 
severe  strain  upon  both  men  and  horses  for  six-and-thirty 
hours  or  more  ; for  perhaps  two  days  and  nights,  he  cal- 
culated, the  whole  party  would  have  to  do  with  very  little 
rest.  “ As  for  the  men,”  thought  Hobson,  “ they  must 
contrive  to  eat  and  sleep  in  the  saddle,  but  pull  up  to  bait 
the  horses  we  must.”  Water,  too,  was  becoming  a very 
serious  consideration.  The  men’s  water-bottles,  he  knew, 
must  be  pretty  well  emptied ; and  then,  again,  what  was  to 
be  done  about  the  horses  ? — they  had  no  idea  where  or  when 
they  would  come  upon  it.  However,  Hobson  comforted 
himself  with  the  reflection  that  water  was  as  necessary  to 
Shere  Ali  as  to  himself,  and  that  the  dacoits  must  know  of 
a stream  on  their  road.  His  mind  was  destined  to  be 
speedily  set  at  rest  on  the  one  point.  Suddenly  shots  were 
heard  in  the  front,  and  the  advance  guard  were  seen  fall- 
ing rapidly  back.  Sergeant  Rivers  hurriedly  reported  that 
they  had  come  upon  the  rear  of  the  dacoits,  apparently 
unexpected  by  the  latter.  The  marauders  were  marching 
in  rather  irregular  and  desultory  fashion,  but  closed  up  and 
faced  about  the  minute  they  discovered  their  pursuers. 

‘‘  They  mean  fighting,  sir,  never  fear,”  said  the  sergeant, 
as  he  finished  his  report. 

“ Is  there  a large  body  of  them  ? ” asked  Hobson. 

“ Rather  difficult  to  say,  sir,”  replied  the  sergeant ; but 
they’ve  fcwrmed  across  the  roa^” 


CHARLIE'S  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE.  301 

“ Mr.  Devereux/'  said  Hobson,  “ take  ten  files,  creep 
round  the  jungle  to  the  right,  so  as  to  take  ’em  in  flank. 
I’m  going  to  attack  in  front  at  once ; but  nothing  demoral- 
ises these  black  fellows  like  finding  their  assailants  have 
got  round  their  flank.  You  had  better  go  with  him,  Rivers. 
One  moment,  Devereux,  get  well  round,  remember,  almost 
towards  their  rear,  before  you  attack  ; never  fear  but  what 
you’ll  get  plenty  of  fighting.” 

Charlie  touched  his  hat ; moved  rapidly  to  the  rear , 
told  off  his  score  of  men  ; and  then,  accompanied  by 
Rivers,  plunged  into  the  jungle.  Hobson,  without  further 
delay,  at  once  dashed  at  his  enemy  in  front ; but  the 
dacoits  stood  their  ground,  and  evidently  meant  to  offer  a 
stubborn  resistance. 

The  English  soldiers  had  dismounted,  and,  in  skirmish- 
ing order,  had  advanced  rapidly  along  the  road,  and  had 
spread  through  the  jungle  on  either  side  of  it.  But  the 
robbers  were  much  too  cunning  to  keep  on  the  road  ; they 
quickly  resorted  to  the  cover  on  either  side  of  it,  and  the 
rattle  of  the  musketry  became  now  continuous.  Taking 
advantage  of  every  tree,  the  soldiers  closed  rapidly  in  on 
their  foes,  but  the  latter  apparently  had  no  intention  of 
meeting  the  Feringees  at  close  quarters.  They  retreated 
sullenly  before  them,  at  the  same  time  yielding  ground 
slowly  and  disputing  it  yard  by  yard. 

Charlie  Devereux  meanwhile  was  doing  his  best  to  carry 
out  his  instructions,  and,  though  the  rattle  of  the  musketry 
made  both  himself  and  his  men  impatient  to  take  part  in 
the  fray,  yet  he  resolved,  in  his  own  parlance,  to  “ ride 
strictly  to  orders,”  which,  however,  were  made  the  more 
difficult  to  carry  out  from  the  fact  of  the  robbers  falling 
back,  and  which  were  destined  to  end  most  unfortunately 
for  Charlie.  Shere  Ali,  flushed  with  the  successes  which 
had  attended  his  late  exploits,  and  finding  himself — much 
against  his  will — brought  to  bay,  determined,  as  he  said, 
to  read  the  Feringees  a lesson.  His  force  very  much 
outnumbered  that  of  Hobson,  and  it  had  occurred  to  him 
to  put  in  force  the  same  manoeuvre  that  his  antagonists  • 
had  employed.  He  had  detached  quite  a third  of  his  force, 
under  one  of  his  ablest  lieutenants,  with  similar  orders  to 


302 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


those  of  Devereux.  The  result  was  obvious : these  two 
parties,  each  stealing  round  to  fall  upon  their  adversary’s 
flank,  must  come  into  contact.  And  Devereux  and  his 
party,  instead  of  surprising  the  robbers,  suddenly  found 
themselves  surrounded  by  the  enemy  in  numbers  of  four- 
fold their  own  strength. 

With  a shout  of  “ Follow  me  ! ” Devereux  dashed  straight 
at  the  dacoits  with  the  intention  of  cutting  his  way  through, 
and  then  falling  on  the  flank  of  the  main  body  in  compli- 
ance with  his  instructions.  But  weight  of  numbers  brought 
the  English  soldiers  back,  and  the  result  of  a few  minutes’ 
sharp  fighting  saw  Charlie  stretched  senseless  from  a sabre 
cut  dealt  by  the  grim  old  sowar  who  led  the  enemy’s  flank- 
ing party.  Sergeant  Rivers,  who  was  now  left  in  com- 
mand, made  two  desperate  charges  in  the  hopes  of  at  least 
carrying  Devereux  off  with  him ; but  it  was  in  vain,  the 
robbers  were  too  numerous  for  him ; and  he  was  eventu- 
ally driven  back  on  the  main  body,  with  the  loss  of  half 
his  men. 

But  Hobson  understood  his  business,  and,  as  soon  as 
he  had  become  aware  of  the  fact  that  his  flank  was  turned, 
he  fell  back  and  rapidly  showed  a front  in  the  direction  of 
his  fresh  assailants;  in  short,  the  English  formation  speedily 
became  that  of  a somewhat  irregular  square,  and  their  leader 
confined  himself  at  present  to  the  defences.  Hobson  and 
his  men  had  not  fought  the  Bandies  for  nothing ; he  had 
miscalculated  the  strength  of  his  antagonists,  and  had 
not  calculated  upon  Shere  Ali’s  crafty  manoeuvre,  but  he 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  the  dacoits,  however  numerous, 
breaking  his  formation.  In  vain  did  Shere  Ali  urge  on 
his  men,  and  exhort  them  not  to  spare  the  infidel  dogs, 
nor  to  leave  a Feringee  alive  to  see  the  sun  go  down. 
After  one  or  two  half-hearted  attempts  the  marauders 
recognised  that  the  Feringees  were  a very  tough  nut 
to  crack ; the  deadly  Enfields  scattered  havoc  in  their 
ranks,  and  they  eventually  recoiled,  cowed  and  discomfited. 
Shere  Ali  gnashed  his  teeth  with  rage ; but  he,  too,  was 
quick  to  understand  that  the  massacre  of  a troop  of  English 
soldiers  was  a very  different  thing  from  that  of  a couple  of 
sgubradors  and  their  native  escort.  He  drew  off  suddenly 


CHARLIE’S  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE, 


303 


like  a wounded  tiger  baulked  of  his  prey.  And  Hobson 
took  advantage  of  the  lull  to  reckon  up  his  casualties.  It 
had  been  a sharp  brush,  and,  though  the  dacoits  were 
strewn  pretty  thickly  on  the  ground,  yet  his  own  loss  was 
considerable  for  an  affair  of  this  nature.  He  was  much 
concerned  to  hear  that  Charlie  Devereux  had  fallen,  and 
no  sooner  were  the  robbers  fairly  in  retreat  than  Sergeant 
Rivers  and  a party  were  sent  out  to  bring  in  their  officer. 
It  was  possible  he  might  not  have  been  killed ; and,  at  all 
events,  it  was  their  duty  to  see  they  left  no  wounded 
beliind  them.  But  the  dacoits  had  made  sure  work  of  the 
fallen,  the  wounded  had  been  butchered  where  they  lay. 
One  thing  only  was  extraordinary^- Charlie  Devereux, 
whether  dead  or  alive,  had  disappeared. 

Hobson  looked  very  grave  when  it  was  reported  to  him 
that  Mr.  Devereux  was  missing.  Anything  was  better 
than  this.  Shere  Ali’s  ferocious  character  was  well  known  ; 
and  even  the  men  felt  that  their  comrades  who  lay  cold 
and  stark  in  the  jungle  had  met  with  a more  merciful  fate 
than  was  probably  reserved  for  the  officer  who  had  led 
them  That  he  had  been  carried  off  by  the  dacoits  there 
could  be  no  doubt.  It  was  hardly  likely  that  they  would 
have  done  this  unless  he  had  been  alive.  And  the  toughest 
veterans  among  them  shook  their  heads  ruefully  over  the 
sort  of  mercy  that  Shere  Ali  was  likely  to  mete  out  to  a 
captive  in  the  hour  of  his  defeat.  Hobson’s  resolve  was 
soon  made ; in  half  an  hour,  he  was  once  more  pressing  on 
the  footsteps  of  his  retreating  foe  ; he  was  resolved  to  stick 
to  Shere  Ali’s  skirts  till  men  or  horses  gave  out.  He  would 
track  this  human  tiger  to  his  stronghold,  or  prevent  his 
ever  reaching  it.  In  face  of  a very  hot  pursuit  it  was 
possible  that  Shere  Ali  would  think  it  best  not  to  betray 
the  secret  of  his  citadel ; he  was  far  too  shrewd  not  to 
understand  that  once  known  his  capture  became  a simple 
. matter  of  a few  days.  The  English  could  bring  up  force 
to  overwhelm  him  in  a marvellously  short  time.  Hobson 
knew,  moreover,  that  his  own  party  was  only  one  of  a 
perfect  chain  of  patrols,  sent  forth  for  the  capture  of  the 
dacoit  chief.  “ It  was  odd,”  he  thought,  if  he  could  not 
capture  Shere  Ali  himself,  he  would  succeed  in  hunting 


304 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


him  into  the  hands  of  some  other  patrol  of  the  cordon/' 
And  therefore  he  continued  to  hang  upon  the  trail  of  the 
dacoits  with  untiring  pertinacity. 


XLII. — Mrs.  Kynaston’s  Disappointment. 

Bertie  SLADE  walked  away  in  a very  different  state 
of  mind  from  Onslow  Gardens  to  that  in  which  he 
had  arrived  there.  What  a fool  he  had  been  ! ingenuously 
tormenting  himself  about  Lettie’s  betrothal,  when  all  the 
while  no  such  engagement  ever  existed.  Well,  it  was  all 
right  now,  and  he  cared  little  what  became  of  Furzedon, 
though  he  felt  pretty  certain  that  Norman  Slade  would 
take  good  care  that  righteous  retribution  was  dealt  out  to 
him.  Then  he  thought  of  how  he  had  fallen  into  this 
mistake.  He  was  quite  certain  that  it  was  from  Charlie 
he  first  heard  of  it ; but  he  remembered  what  Lettie  had 
said,  ‘‘  that  somebody  must  have  put  it  into  his  head,  for 
that  her  brother  was  the  last  man  to  arrive  at  such  a con- 
clusion from  his  own  observations.”  And  then  it  flashed 
across  him  that  he  also  had  heard  it  from  other  lips.  Mrs. 
Kynaston  had  told  him  the  same  story.  Was  it  not  pos- 
sible that  Charlie’s  knowledge  of  his  sister’s  engagement 
had  been  derived  from  the  same  source  ? He  turned  this 
over  in  his  mind  as  he  walked  along.  Charlie  was  very 
thick  with  Mrs.  Kynaston , and  Bertie  remembered  well 
it  was  just  after  that  flying  visit  of  young  Devereux’s  to 
town  that  he  told  this  bit  of  news,  “And,  by  heaven!” 
muttered  Bertie  to  himself,  “ I recollect  now.  He  said  he 
heard  it  from  Mrs.  Kynaston ; and  remarked  how  odd  it 
was  that  he  should  have  the  first  tidings  of  his  sister’s 
intended  marriage  from  any  other  but  herself.” 

Bertie  Slade  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  early  yet,  he 
thought ; he  had  still  plenty  of  time  before  dinner ; some- 
how he  didn’t  seem  to  have  half  so  much  to  do  as  he 
thought  he  had  that  morning.  The  fact  was  the  important 
part  of  his  business  in  town  was  already  brought  to  a 


MRS.  KYNASTON'S  DISAPPOINTMENT. 


305 


satisfactory  conclusion.  He  ought  to  call  and  wish  Mrs. 
Kynaston  good-bye  before  he  sailed.  “ Td  make  any  bet 
that  this  rumour  was  a bit  of  her  handiwork ; but  why  ? 
What  object  could  she  have  in  setting  such  a report  afloat  ? 
I shouldn’t  fancy  her  a mischievous  woman  either.”  And 
still  puzzling  over  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  motives  Gilbert  Slade 
arrived  at  the  little  house  in  Mayfair,  and  was  forthwith 
ushered  into  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  drawing-room. 

“ Mr.  Slade,”  exclaimed  that  lady,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  genuine  pleasure,  ‘Gt  is  ages  since  I’ve  seen  or  even 
heard  of  you.  Sit  down,  do,  and  give  an  account  of 
yourself.” 

“ There  is  not  much  to  be  told,”  he  replied ; ‘‘  we  got 
through  the  winter  at  York  pretty  much  as  they  always  do. 
We  hunted  all  day  and  danced  all  night ; rode  as  hard  as 
we  dared,  and  valsed  as  long  as  we  could  last.” 

“ Well,  you  are  not  very  much  to  be  pitied.  We  had 
the  hunting,  of  course,  but  as  for  our  dances,  they  were  as 
thinly  spread  as  the  butter  of  our  childhood.  And  now  I 
suppose  you  are  up  for  some  time  ? ” 

On  the  contrary,  I have  but  three  days’  leave ; and, 
s'ad  to  say,  have  come  to  wish  you  good-bye  ; we  sail  for 
India  in  about  three  weeks.” 

The  colour  faded  out  of  Kate  Kynaston’s  cheeks  as,  in 
a low  voice,  she  faltered  out,  “ What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  freak  ? ” 

We  don’t  know,”  replied  Slade;  ‘‘but  it  is  a freak  of 
the  War  Office,  not  of  mine.” 

“ What,  the  regiment  is  ordered  out  ? ” 

“ Yes,  at  monstrous  short  notice ; and,  as  far  as  we  can 
see,  for  no  particular  reason.  Pray  don’t  suppose  I am 
very  enthusiastic  about  it.” 

“ Nor,  I am  sure,  are  your  many  friends,”  rejoined  the 
lady. 

“ Amongst  whom  I trust  I may  reckon  Mrs.  Kynaston,” 
said  Slade. 

“ None  truer,  you  know  it,”  exclaimed  Kate,  extending 
her  hand,  and  flashing  a coquettish  look  at  him  from  under 
her  dark  eyelashes,  that  might  have  provoked  most  men  to 
philandering,  if  not  to  more  passionate  love-making.  But 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


306 

Gilbert  Slade’s  heart  was  steeled.  Not  only  was  he  wholly 
devoted  to  another  woman,  but  he  held  that  Mrs.  Kynaston 
was  the  originator  of  the  report  of  Lettie’s  engagement, 
and  had  so  caused  him  months  of  unhappiness. 

It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,”  he  replied,  as  he  took 
her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips ; “ we  all  like  to  think 
there  is  some  one  who  will  miss  us  when  we  are  gone.” 

‘‘  Yes ; and  I for  one  shall  miss  you  very  much.  I have 
missed  you  so  much  during  the  long  and  dreary  winter,” 
and  again  it  was  impossible  for  any  man  to  mistake  the 
challenge  held  forth  to  him. 

“ I am  sorry,”  he  replied,  “ that  I was  unable  to  make 
my  way  into  North  Lincolnshire,  but  Charlie  Devereux’s 
smash  knocked  that  little  scheme  on  the  head.  By  the 
way,  I had  hoped  to  have  seen  his  sister  married  before  I 
sailed  ; I suppose  the  wedding  will  take  place  before  long, 
now.” 

I should  imagine  so,”  replied  Mrs.  Kynaston,  a little 
shortly.  Was  this  man  adamant,  that  he  should  reply  to 
such  an  opening  that  she  had  vouchsafed  him  by  talking  of 
another  woman’s  marriage  ? **  However,  I have  not  seen 

Miss  Devereux  since  the  winter,  and  don’t  think  she  has 
arrived  in  town  as  yet ; but  never  mind  Lettie,  tell  me  all 
about  yourself.  When  do  you  go,  and  where  are  you 
going  ? ” 

“ I have  told  you  already  all  I know  about  it ; further 
than  that,  the  Madras  Presidency  is  our  destination.” 

“ It’s  always  the  same,”  replied  Kate,  pettishly.  ‘‘  It 
is  never  any  use  making  friends  with  a soldier  ; all  my 
favourites  invariably  get  sent  on  foreign  service.” 

Strictly  speaking,  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  charms,  aided  by  her 
husband’s  weakness  for  play,  had  made  foreign  service  a 
necessary  change  for  more  than  one  of  her  military 
admirers.  Still,  in  this  case  no  such  sin  could  be  laid 
against  her.  Gilbert  Slade’s  acquaintance  with  Dick 
Kynaston  was  of  the  slightest ; the  Major  had  never  invited 
him  to  touch  either  card  or  cue ; and  as  we  know,  too,  even 
in  Charlie’s  case,  Kate  had  told  her  husband  outright  that 
be  must  be  allowed  to  pass  scatheless. 

‘‘  Jt’s  very  good  of  you  to  class  me  in  that  category,”  he 


MRS.  KYNASTON'S  DISAPPOINTMENT.  30;^ 

said  slowly  at  length.  “ It  is  odd,  though,  as  an  intimate 
friend  of  Miss  Devereux’s,  that  you  should  have  fallen  into 
the  mistake  of  believing  her  to  be  engaged  to  Furzedon.” 
She  felt  that  her  lie  was  detected  ; but  it  was  little  likely 
that  a woman  like  Mrs.  Kynaston  would  be  put  out  of 
countenance  by  a trifle  like  that.  “ Oh  dear  !”  she  said 
pettishly,  “ what  have  I to  do  with  Miss  Devereux’s  engage- 
ments ? I know  she  was  ; it’s  quite  likely  she  isn’t  now. 
Girls  of  her  age  are  quite  capable  of  changing  their  mind.” 
“ I don’t  think  she  has  changed  her  mind,”  replied  Bertie. 
**  I don’t  think  a girl  like  Miss  Devereux  would  be  long 
making  up  her  mind  about  a man  like  Furzedon.” 

And  pray  what  do  you  know  against  Mr.  Furzedon  ? ” 
“ I know,”  replied  Bertie,  sternly,  “ what  I presume  you 
know  also,  at  all  events  you  do  if  you  are  in  your  husband’s 
confidence  ; you  know  his  history,  and  you  know  the  expose 
that  threatens  him,  and  yet,  knowing  all  this,  you  have 
never  warned  your  intimate  friend  of  the  character  of  the 
man  whom  you  supposed  to  be  her  fianck.'' 

I don’t  understand  to  what  you  allude,  Mr.  Slade,” 
replied  the  lady,  now  thoroughly  angry.  “ If  you  are 
desirous  of  discussing  Miss  Devereux’s  affairs  you  had  much 
better  talk  them  over  with  her.  I am  very  likely  misin- 
formed about  them.” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  said  Gilbert ; “ at  all  events  I am  quite 
sure  you  have  been  very  much  misinformed  about  Mr. 
Furzedon.,  If  your  husband  has  not  enlightened  you,  I can 
only  apologise  for  what  I have  said.  The  matter  will  be 
a public  scandal  shortly,  and  then  you  will  understand 
what  I mean.  Good-bye.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  swept  him  a stately  bow,  and  resolutely 
ignored  the  hand  he  held  out  to  her.  Another  minute  and 
Gilbert  was  gone — not  quite  the  parting  this  that  Mrs. 
Kynaston  had  pictured  to  herself ; and  as  she  paced  the 
room  in  her  passion  once  again  did  Kate  Kynaston  vow 
that  Bertie  Slade  should  never  wed  Lettice  Devereux  if 
she  could  prevent  it. 

It  was  in  a very  happy  frame  of  mind  that  Bertie  sat 
down  to  dinner  with  his  uncle  at  the  Thermopolium  ; but 
§till  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  was  overflowing  with  kindU- 


SADDLE  AND  SABRB. 


308 

ness  to  all  humanity.  For  once  the  attractive  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton  had  most  thoroughly  missed  her  mark,  and  far  from 
subduing  Gilbert  had  simply  aroused  a feeling  of  angry 
vindictiveness  in  his  nature.  It  was  not  that  he  would 
have  said  a word,  or  stirred  a finger  towards  her  woe,  but 
he  most  assuredly  would  have  felt  little  sympathy  at  any 
social  discomfiture  that  might  await  her.  He  was  not  of  a 
very  soft  or  impressionable  nature,  and  he  did  consider,  as 
we  know  rightly,  that  she  had  occasioned  him  much  un- 
happiness by  the  rumour  of  which  she  was  the  originator. 

“ Well,  Bertie,*’  said  Major  Braddock,  as,  having  finished 
his  soup,  he  raised  a glass  of  sherry  to  his  lips,  “ so  the  old 
regiment  is  going  * to  take  a turn  in  the  East.  Good 
heavens ! ” he  continued,  putting  his  glass  hastily  down, 
“ look  here,  waiter,  send  the  wine  butler  here  at  once. 
How  dare  you  bring  that  sherry  to  me,  Stephens  ? ” he 
exclaimed,  as  that  functionary  made  his  appearance.  “ It 
might  have  done  for  some  of  the  very  young  gentlemen, 
but  not  for  me  ; it’s  corked  ; smell  it.” 

“ I’m  sure  I’m  very  sorry,  sir,”  replied  Stephens ; “ I 
decantered  it  myself,  and  I detected  nothing  wrong  with  it.” 
“ Then  you’re  not  fit  for  your  situation,”  retorted  the 
Major  sternly.  “ Change  it  at  once.” 

“Certainly,  sir;”  and  murmuring  “I  am  always  very 
particular  about  your  wine,  Major  Braddock,”  Stephens 
retreated  meekly. 

“ It’s  very,  very  slightly  touched,”  said  Bertie. 

“ I know  that,”  rejoined  the  Major,  “ and  there  are 
plenty  of  men  in  the  club  who  wouldn’t  have  detected  it 
was  touched  at  all,  but  Stephens  ought  to  know  better  than 
to  try  it  on  me.” 

Gilbert  thought  that  he  himself  would  probably  have 
been  one  of  those  who  would  have  not  detected  it  had  he 
been  dining  by  himself,  but  he  knew  better  than  to  interfere 
with  his  gourmet  uncle  until  he  had  been  pacified  by  a 
glass  of  sherry  to  which  even  he  could  take  no  exception. 

“ Well,”  said  the  Major,  “ India  is  a place  to  see,  and 
your  getting  your  troop  just  before  going  out  makes  it 
worth  your  while.  A captain  really  draws  a decent  income 
put  there;  after  two  or  three  years,  if  you  don’t  like  it, 


‘‘GOOD-BYE,  SWEETHEART,  GOOD-BYE.”  300 

we  shall  no  doubt  be  able  to  manage  an  exchange  home 
for  you.'* 

“ Thanks,”  replied  Gilbert,  “ but  I shall  be  home  before 
that,  I think.  Tm  as  good  as  engaged  to  be  married.” 

“ The  deuce  you  are,”  replied  Major  Braddock ; ‘Vand 
who  to,  pray  ? ” 

“ To  Miss  Devereux,  Charlie’s  only  sister.” 

“ Ah  ! a very  pretty  girl,  I’ve  heard  your  Uncle  Norman 
say ; but  I say,  Bertie,  I trust  she  hasn’t  got  her  brother’s 
talent  for  getting  through  money,  or  you  will  be  clean 
broke  before  a couple  of  years  are  out.” 

‘‘  I think  there  is  no  fear  of  that,”  replied  Gilbert,  laugh- 
ing. “ I must  go  out,  you  see,  but  as,  for  a wonder,  we 
don’t  happen  to  have  any  war  upon  our  hands,  there  will 
be  no  trouble  about  getting  home  again.” 

“Well,  I always  think  soldiers  are  better  unmarried,” 
rejoined  the  Major ; “ still,  when  you’ve  got  your  troop,  I 
always  said  you  had  a right  to  please  yourself.  I can  only 
sincerely  trust  you  will  be  happy.  I know  a little  about 
old  Devereux’s  affairs  from  looking  after  his  son’s.  That 
girl  will  come  into  a comfortable  little  bit  of  mone}^  some 
day.”  And  then  the  conversation  turned  into  other  chan- 
nels chiefly  bearing  on  the  regiment,  and  which  have  no 
bearing  on  this  history.  Once  only  did  Gilbert  revert  to 
the  Devereux  family,  and  then  it  was  to  ask  if  any  steps 
had  been  taken  about  Charlie’s  difficulties.  The  Major 
briefly  gave  him  an  account  of  his  interview  with  Jordan  & 
Co.  “ The  knowledge  of  who  Jordan  & Co.  actually  are  is 
a trump  card  in  our  hands,  for,  sooner  than  face  a court  of 
law,  I have  not  the  slightest  doubt  Mr.  Furzedon  will 
abandon  all  claims  to  usurious  interest.” 


kLIII. — “ Good-bye,  Sweetheart,  Good-bye.” 
ILBERT  SLADE  made  his  appearance  in  Onslow 


Gardens  a good  half-hour  before  the  luncheon  hour ; 


and  Mrs.  Connop,  who  hardly  needed  the  hint  that  her 
niece  vouchsafed  her,  had  discreetly  left  the  drawing-room 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


3^0 

to  Miss  Devereux’s  sole  occupation.  If  Gilbert  had  been 
somewhat  vacillating  yesterday,  he  came  very  directly  to 
the  point  to-day. 

“You  know  what  I have  come  for,  Lettice.  I have  come 
to  say  plainly  what  I virtually  said  yesterday,  and  can  only 
trust  that,  in  my  joy  at  finding  you  free,  I did  not  read 
your  feelings  wrongly.  Will  you  marry  me?  I love  you 
very  dearly,  and  have  done,  I believe,  ever  since  I first 
knew  you ; but  it  wasn’t  until  I heard  that  lying  rumour 
that  I discovered  how  very  much  you  were  to  me.  Can 
you  like  me  well  enough  to  say  ‘ Yes  ? ’ ” 

Miss  Devereux  hesitated  only  for  a moment,  then  frankly 
stretched  out  her  hand,  and  said  simply,  “ Yes,  I will  be 
your  wife.”  An  answer  to  which  the  victor  at  once  replied 
by  seizing  the  spoils  of  war,  and  pressing  his  lips  to  hers. 

Then  Miss  Devereux  sat  demurely  down,  and  motioned 
him  to  a seat  by  her  side  ; and  the  conversation  became, 
although  extremely  interesting  to  themselves,  one  that 
would  read  insufferably  dull  upon  paper.  There  are  some 
things  best  left  to  the  imagination  ; and  it  is  a question 
whether  our  own  experiences  don’t  suggest  more  to  us  than 
all  books  can  tell.  I don’t  think,  beyond  the  fact  that  their 
marriage  could  not  take  place  for  some  little  time,  they 
gave  much  heed  to  future  arrangements,  which  was, 
perhaps,  as  well,  as  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  changes  a 
few  months  may  make  in  one’s  plans. 

When  Mrs.  Connop  came  into  the  room,  Gilbert  lost  no 
time  in  telling  her  of  Lettie’s  promise  to  be  his  wife.  Of 
course,”  he  said,  diplomatically,  “ there  are  yourself  and 
her  father  and  mother  to  be  consulted.  As  far  as  I am 
concerned,  I am  my  own  master.  My  parents  are  both 
dead,  but  I told  my  uncle.  Major  Braddock,  about  it  last 
night ” 

“ How  could  you,”  interrupted  Lettice,  laughing ; “ what 
dreadful  audacity!  You  couldn’t  be  sure  I should  say 
‘ Yes.’  ” 

‘‘  Pray  don’t  think  you  were  compromised,”  rejoined 
Gilbert,  gaily.  “ I only  told  him  what  I intended  to  do ; 
that  I had  almost  as  good  as  asked  you,  and  that  I had 
hopes  of  a favourable  answer.  Well,  Mrs.  Connop,  you 


•COOD-BYE,  SWEETHEART,  GOOD-BYE.'^  3H 

knoTv  Uncle  Bob  is  a good  sort ; you  know  how  he  stood 
to  Charlie.  Well,  he  wished  me  joy,  and  I feel  quite  sure 
my  Uncle  Norman — he  has  seen  you,  remember,  Lettice — 
will  say  the  same  in  his  own  way.  I only  trust,  Mrs. 
Connop,  you  can  say  the  same  on  your  side.” 

“ My  dear  Mr.  Slade,”  replied  that  lady,  in  quite  a little 
fluster  of  pleasure  and  excitement,  **  you  have  both  my 
most  hearty  good  wishes,  and  I shall  be  only  too  charmed 
to  welcome  you  as  a nephew.  I cannot,  of  course,  answer 
for  my  brother ; but  I don’t  think  it  is  likely  that  he  will 
not  be  equally  pleased  to  receive  you  into  the  family.” 

“ Thank  you,”  replied  Bertie,  quietly,  **  I always  felt 
I could  rely  upon  you,  and  I hope  I have  a satisfactory 
story  to  tell  to  Mr.  Devereux.” 

I have  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it ; but  now,  young 
people,  do  come  to  lunch,  you  may  not  have  time  to  be 
hungry,  but  I both  have  and  am.” 

A very  merry  party  was  that  in  the  dining-room  that 
afternoon.  Mrs.  Connop  insisted  that  the  occasion  re- 
quired a bottle  of  champagne  ; and,  let  devotees  of  the 
Blue  Ribbon  League  rave  as  they  will,  that  does  impart  a 
liveliness  to  conversation. 

Things  were  discussed  in  a much  more  business-like  way 
under  the  auspices  of  Mrs.  Connop  than  they  had  been  by 
the  young  couple  in  the  drawing-room.  And  that  Gilbert 
should  go  out  to  India  and  return  within  a year  for  the 
wedding  was  definitely  settled. 

“ Stop,  I tell  you  what,  Mrs.  Connop,’  suddenly  ex- 
claimed Bertie,  “ I’ve  got  an  idea.  I must  go  back  to 
York,  because  there’s  such  a deuce  of  a lot  to  do,  and, 
though  the  chief  is  as  good  as  gold  about  leave,  it  stands 
to  reason  the  work  must  be  done.  Now  I shall  see  awfully 
little  of  Lettice  before  I sail ; if  you  wouldn’t  mind  it  you 
would  be  real  good-natured,  and  if  Mr.  Devereux  says  it’s 
all  right,  you  might  run  down  to  Portsmouth  and  see 
us  off.” 

“ My  goodness,  Mr.  Slade,  that  is  rather  a startling  pro- 
posal. I don’t  think  I quite  see  my  way  to  that.” 

“ It’s  quite  easy,  I assure  you ; Major  Braddock  is 
Mre  to  come  down,  and  I am  sura  would  be  only  too 


312 


SADDLE  AKD  SABRS. 


pleased  to  take  charge  of  you.  Fll  take  very  good  care 
that  you  get  a line  from  him  volunteering  his  services ; 
and  don’t  be  afraid,  Lettice,  you’ll  be  awfully  well  taken 
care  of,  as  far  as  eating  and  drinking  goes,  while  you’re 
under  his  charge.” 

Miss  Deyereux  and  her  aunt  were  both  too  well  aware 
of  the  Major’s  pet  weakness  not  to  smile  at  this  recom- 
mendation, and  Mrs.  Connop  at  length  was  induced  to  say 
“ she  would  think  it  over,  and,  if  possible,  run  down  to  see 
the  last  of  him.” 

**  Amuse  you,  I am  sure,  Mrs.  Connop,”  said  Gilbert ; 

a rather  strange  mixture  are  the  good-byes  on  those 
occasions.  If  some  of  them  are  made  with  laughter  and 
toast-drinking  there  are  others  made  with  tears  and  broken 
words.  However,  our  good-bye  is  not  likely  to  be  of  that 
sort ; we  are  not  going  campaigning,  and  there  is  nothing 
to  prevent  our  friends  giving  us  a real  cheery  God-speed.” 

By  the  time  this  was  satisfactorily  arranged  Gilbert  dis- 
covered that  it  was  time  for  him  to  go.  He  had  two  or 
three  things  yet  to  arrange  before  leaving  town,  so  he  bade 
his  fiancee  a hasty  adieu,  shook  hands  heartily  with  Mrs. 
Connop,  dashed  down  stairs,  and  jumped  into  the  first 
hansom  he  came  across. 

Her  very  unsatisfactory  interview  with  Gilbert  Slade 
had  aroused  all  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  energies.  It  was  possible 
that  Miss  Devereux  was  in  town,  although  she  had  not  as 
yet  heard  it,  but  Mrs.  Kynaston  determined  that  that  was 
a point  she  would  lose  no  time  in  clearing  up,  and  with 
this  object  the  next  day  she  drove  down  to  Onslow  Gar- 
dens to  call  upon  Mrs.  Connop,  and  arrived  there  a bare 
half-hour  after  Gilbert  had  left  the  house.  She  was  not 
surprised  to  find  in  answer  to  her  inquiries  that  Miss  De- 
vereux was  in  town.  Thinking  the  whole  thing  over,  she 
had  felt  pretty  certain,  not  only  that  she  must  be,  but  that 
Gilbert  had  seen  her,  and  an  understanding  of  some  sort 
had  been  arrived  at  between  the  pair.  Both  ladies  she  was 
informed  were  at  home,  and  she  accordingly  followed  the 
servant  upstairs. 

Persistent  believer  as  she  had  always  affected  to  be  in 
Miss  Devereux’s  engagement  to  Furzedon,  yet  it  had  never 


•good-bye,  sweetheart,  good-byb.®® 


3*3 


occurred  to  Lettie  to  sucpect  Kate  of  having  industriously 
set  about  the  rumour,  and  therefore  she  was  received  with 
great  cordiality.  Mrs.  Connop  had  never  quite  liked  Mrs. 
Kynaslon,  but  she  was  so  elated  by  the  event  of  the  morn- 
ing that  she  would  have  welcomed  any  one  warmly ; 
while,  as  for  Lettie,  she  was  only  too  pleased  to  feel  that 
it  was  now  in  her  power  to  convince  her  friend  of  the 
absurdity  of  the  idea  of  her  ever  marrying  Mr.  Furzedon. 

“ I have  been  barely  in  town  a week,’’  said  Lettie,  in 
answer  to  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  reproaches  of  not  acquainting 
her  with  her  own  arrival.  “ I should  have  been  round  to 
see  you  in  a day  or  two,  but  it  was  very  nice  of  you  to  call 
to-day.  You  are  always  speculating  on  my  marriage. 
Well,  I have  a bit  of  news  for  you.  I am  really  engaged.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  paused  for  a moment  before  she  replied. 
Although  expecting  something  of  the  sort,  she  was  not 
prepared  for  an  open  avowal  of  the  engagement.  It  was 
with  difficulty  she  preserved  her  composure,  as  she  replied, 
“ Pray  accept  my  congratulations,  and  don’t  be  surprised 
at  my  not  asking  the  name  of  the  happy  man.  He  came 
down  to  take  a sentimental  leave  of  me  yesterday  after- 
noon, and  I have  no  doubt  was  engaged  in  paying  a round 
of  such  v*isits.  I pretty  well  gathered  how  his  leave-taking 
here  had  terminated.” 

Lettice  started  as  if  she  had  been  stung ; she  had  had 
her  tiffs  with  Kate  Kynaston,  no  doubt,  but  she  did  regard 
her  as  her  most  intimate  friend,  and  had  expected  her  con- 
gratulations would  be  both  honest  and  thorough,  but  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  half-sneer  in  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  speech, 
nor  could  any  one  fail  to  notice  the  cold  half-mocking  tones 
in  which  the  conventional  words  were  spoken.  Mrs.  Kyn- 
aston was  a good  actress,  but  for  once  in  her  life  the  blow 
had  been  too  severe,  and  for  the  moment  she  had  involun- 
tarily dropped  the  mask.  She  repented  almost  as  soon 
as  the  words  had  passed  her  lips,  but  for  the  minute 
she  could  not  for  the  life  of  her  have  said  otherwise. 

I don’t  think  Mr.  Slade  had  time  to  pay  quite  as  many 
calls  as  yon  suggest,  nor  even  if  he  did  say  good-bye  to  a 
few  of  his  friends  do  I suppose  his  partings  were  quite  of 
the  character  you  describe*” 


3H 


SADDLE  AND  SABRl. 


‘‘  Yes/*  chimed  in  Mrs.  Connop,  sharply,  **  Lettie  is  a 
very  lucky  girl.  Mr.  Slade  will  get  his  troop  almost  imme- 
diately, and  it  will  all  do  very  nicely;  at  all  events,  we  are 
very  pleased  with  it,  are  we  not,  Lettie  ? ’* 

“ And  with  good  reason,”  cried  Mrs.  Kynaston,  who  had 
by  this  time  quite  recovered  herself.  “ I congratulate  you 
with  all  my  heart,  Lettie  ; though,”  she  continued,  with  a 
comical  little  grimace  and  a shrug  of  her  shoulders,  “ it  is 
rather  hard  to  have  one  of  one's  pet  admirers  taken  from 
one  in  this  fashion.” 

I can't  call  to  mind  ever  figuring  quite  in  that  way  as 
regards  you,”  replied  Miss  Devereux. 

“ Now,  don't  be  touchy,  Lettie,”  said  Mrs.  Kynaston, 
laughing.  “ It's  only  my  way,  you  know  ; besides,  he  is 
formally  declared  your  property  now,  though  I am  afraid 
you  will  see  but  little  of  him  before  he  sails.” 

“We  are  to  go  down  to  Portsmouth  and  see  the  last  of 
him,”  said  Mrs.  Connop.  “ He  was  always  a great  favour- 
ite of  mine,  and  as  he  says,  ‘ this  is  only  saying  good-bye 
for  a few  months,'  and  there  is  no  fighting  going  on,  so 
we’ve  no  cause  to  feel  anxious  about  him.” 

“ All  very  nice,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Kynaston,  “ but  i must 
be  going  now  Good-bye,  Lettie , I am  sure  I wish  you 
every  happiness,  and  you  mustn't  begrudge  Mr  Slade 
having  come  to  say  good-bye  to  me.  I am  an  old  friend 
of  his,  you  know.  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Connop,  early  days  for 
her  to  be  jealous,  isn’t  it  ? ” and  with  a gay  laugh  Mrs. 
Kynaston  sailed  out  of  the  room. 

“ And  I thought  that  woman  my  friend  1 ’ exclaimed 
Lettie.  “ Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  her,  aunt  ? her 
congratulations  were  a mere  mockery.  Jealous  I no.  I’m 
not  that ; but  Kate  was  doing,  and  would  do,  her  very  best 
to  make  me  so,  if  she  only  had  the  opportunity.” 

“ I never  did  like  her,”  replied  Mrs.  Connop,  “ but  as  for 
the  jealousy,  my  dear,  it  was  all  on  her  side.  She  is  very 
much  put  out  at  your  engagement,  depend  upon  it.” 

Mrs.  Kynaston  had  been  unable  to  avoid  betraying  her- 
self, though  she  would  fain  have  done  otherwise.  She  was 
too  angry  with  the  affianced  pair  to  listen  to  the  announce- 
ment ^ thek  happiness  with  patience.  The  rejection  of 


GOOD-BYE,  SWEETHEART,  GOOD-BYE.^  3IS 

her  precious  spikenard  is  a sore  trial  for  any  woman’s 
temper,  but  the  full  measure  of  her  wrath  is  sure  to  be 
reserved  for  that  one  of  her  sisters  who  brought  such  dis- 
comfiture about. 

The  brief  interval  soon  slips  away,  and  the  gallant  — th 
are  in  all  the  turmoil  that  the  order  for  foreign  service 
invariably  evolves.  The  sale  of  their  horses  was,  as  is 
always  the  case,  the  worst  ever  known.  Who  cares  to 
buy  hunters  at  the  end  of  the  hunting  season  ? As  young 
Sparshot  pithily  remarked,  They  would  not  have  lost  much 
more,  and  it  would  have  been  far  more  graceful  to  have 
shot  the  lot  in  the  barrack-yard,  and  sent  them  over  to  the 
kennels  to  feed  the  hounds  they  had  followed  so  well.” 
Unsatisfied  creditors  thronged  the  barrack-yard,  exces- 
sively anxious  for  the  s^Ulement  of  their  little  accounts,  or 
at  least  some  security  hit  tliern,  occasioning  much  care  and 
anxiety  to  those  gay  soldiers  who  had  lived  up  to  the  tra- 
ditional maxim,  and  “ spent  half  a crown  out  of  sixpence  a 
day.”  It  is  ever  so  ; and,  when  great  military  authorities 
tell  you  that  the  army  is  ready  for  active  service  to  the  last 
buckle  and  gaiter-strap,  I fear  the  officer’s  private  affairs 
are  rarely  taken  into  consideration.  However,  all  these 
little  difficulties  are  over  at  last,  the  sickly  men  have  been 
cast  by  the  doctors,  the  depot  has  been  formed,  and, 
having  this  latter  behind  them,  the  service  strength  of  the 
regiment  was  duly  trained  down  to  Portsmouth. 

That  there  should  be  no  particular  enthusiasm  about 
their  embarkation  was  but  natural.  They  were  not  going 
out  to  take  part  in  a big  fight,  nor  were  bands  ringing  out 
the  spirit-stirring  melodies  which  such  occasions  invariably 
give  rise  to ; but  for  all  that  there  are  always  plenty  of 
people  who  flock  to  see  one  of  our  British  regiments  embark, 
and  start  them  on  their  voyage  with  a ringing  cheer. 

Upon  arrival  at  Portsmouth  the  — th  marched  to  the 
dockyard,  where  the  Semiramis  was  lying  alongside  the 
quay.  The  gigantic  steamship  speedily  engulfed  them 
between  her  capacious  decks,  and  then  Gilbert  had  time 
to  look  round  for  those  who  had  come  to  see  him  off.  He 
had  waved  his  hand  to  Lettie  and  her  escort  as  he  marched 
bis  troop  on  boardi  but  as  soon  as  the  men  had  settled 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


316 

down  he  and  several  of  his  brother  officers  rushed  a^ore 
to  welcome  the  friends  who  had  come  to  see  them  off. 

“ Ah  ! Bertie,  my  boy,’*  exclaimed  the  Major,  “ glad  to 
see  they  are  sending  you  out  like  a gentleman.  None  of 
your  beastly  little  tubs,  but  a slashing  big  ship.  They  tell 
me  you  sail  at  day-break  ? ” 

“ Yes,  that  is  so,”  replied  Gilbert ; **  but  come  on  board 
now,  Mrs.  Connop,  ladies  always  like  looking  round  a ship, 
and  there  is  a sort  of  nondescript  meal  will  take  place  in 
the  saloon  within  an  hour.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Miss  Devereux,  “ I should  like  to  do  that. 
Do  you  know  the  other  day  you  quite  forgot  to  tell  me  how 
Cliarlie’s  business  was  getting  on.” 

“ So  I did,”  replied  Gilbert ; but  you  at  all  events  must 
allow  it  was  excusable.” 

“ Well,  never  mind  now.  I asked  Major  Braddock 
about  them  as  we  came  down,  and  he  says  they  will  be 
arranged  before  very  long.  Father  will  have  to  pay  a good 
bit  of  money  for  him ; but  it’s  a great  thing  that  he  hadn’t 
to  leave  the  army.” 

“ Yes,”  replied  Gilbert ; but  here  the  conversation  was 
interrupted  by  Major  Braddock,  who  exclaimed,  I am 
sorry  to  say  we  shall  have  to  cut  our  leave-taking  very 
short.  The  captain  has  just  told  me,  Bertie,  that,  though 
you  don’t  what  is  called  sail  till  daybreak,  he  is  going 
to  get  his  ship  out  of  harbour  at  once,  and  anchor  for 
the  night  in  the  jpen  water.”  And  here  the  warning 
cry  of  “ All  scrangers  for  shore,  please,”  smote  upon 
their  ears. 

There  is  always  a shade  of  sadness  in  saying  good-bye 
on  such  occasions,  and  I for  one  hold  that  the  sweet 
agony  of  parting”  should  never  be  unduly  prolonged. 
Gilbert  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Connop  and  his  uncle, 
clasped  Lettie  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  warmly,  and 
whispered  into  her  ear,  ‘‘  Don’t  forget  to  write  con- 
stantly, dearest,”  and  then  handed  her  over  to  the  Major’s 
charge.  She  stole  her  hand  once  more  into  his  as  she 
murmured,  ‘‘  God  for  ever  bless  you,  dearest,”  and  leaving 
a small  parcel  in  his  palm  tripped  hurriedly  across  the 
gangway. 


EOBSON  RECOVERS  THE  TRAIL. 


317 

When  Gilbert  unfolded  his  prize  a little  later  it  contained 
a gold  locket  with  the  monogram  of  “ L.  D.’'  upon  one 
side,  while  within  was  coiled  a lock  of  Lettie’s  chestnut 
tresses. 


XLIV.  — Hobson  Recovers  the  Trail. 

WHEN  Charlie  Devereux  came  to  himself,  he  found 
himself  being  borne  along  in  a rude  palanquin,  the 
property  of  the  grim  old  Rohilla  who  had  cut  him  down. 
He  was  dizzy,  confused,  and  his  head  still  swam  a good 
deal  from  the  sabre-stroke,  the  force  of  which,  luckily  for 
him,  had  been  considerably  broken  by  his  helmet.  He  had 
lost  a good  deal  of  blood,  but  his  head  had  been  bound  up 
for  him  roughly  in  a damp  cloth.  As  soon  as  he  could  col- 
lect his  faculties  sufficiently  he  began  to  wonder  what  he 
had  been  spared  for,  and  with  the  remembrance  of  that 
scene  by  the  roadside  he  could  not  but  fear  that  it  would 
have  been  better  for  him  had  he  been  slain  outright.  Soon 
he  perceived  that  there  was  an  animated  discussion  going 
on  between  two  men,  who  were  mounted  on  very  good 
horses,  and  evidently  men  of  note  amongst  the  robbers. 
One  he  recognised  at  once ; it  was  the  dacoit  chief  to  whom 
he  had  been  opposed,  against  whom  he  had  stood  foot  to 
foot  and  sabre  to  sabre,  with  what  dire  results  we  have 
seen.  The  other  was  a little  wiry  man  of  middle  height, 
and  a countenance  somewhat  striking.  You  were  puzzled 
at  first  to  know  what  it  was  repelled  you  in  it ; the  man 
was  well-favoured  enough,  but  his  fellows  seldom  saw  him 
for  the  first  time  without  his  producing  an  uneasy  feeling 
in  their  minds ; but  at  last  it  dawned  upon  you,  it  was  the 
cruel,  restless  eyes.  That  his  companion  paid  him  con- 
siderable deference  was  apparent,  but  that  it  was  Shere 
Ali  himself  Charlie  was  not  aware  until  somewhat  later. 
Could  he  but  have  overheard  the  tenor  of  their  conversa- 
tion it  would  not  have  done  much  to  comfort  him  as 
regarded  his  present  position. 

<‘You  were  wrong,  Hassam,  to  spare  this  dog  of  a 


3i8 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Feringee.  Do  you  suppose  this  one  life  would  save  our 
necks  if  we  fell  into  their  hands  ? No ! depend  upon  it, 
our  lives  are  forfeited  if  ever  they  trap  us.” 

“ But  I don't  counsel  that  his  life  should  be  spared  alto- 
gether. For  the  present,  yes,  because  we  want  some  infor- 
mation from  him.  The  pursuit  of  us  has  thickened,  and 
there  are  now  many  more  parties  of  the  Feringees  scour- 
ing the  country  than  there  used  to  be.” 

“ True,  and  this  lot  behind  us,  in  spite  of  the  warm 
reception  we  gave  them,  are  by  no  means  done  with.  We 
ought  to  have  eaten  them  up  this  morning.” 

“ True,”  replied  the  Rohilla,  “ but  these  children  of 
Sheitan  are  obstinate  as  pigs,  and  moreover  love  fighting.” 
‘‘  You  are  right,  Hassam,  we  will  make  the  sahib  tell  us 
all  we  want  to  know  as  soon  as  he  has  a little  recovered 
himself.” 

“ And  if  he  refuses  to  speak  ? ” said  the  Rohilla  inter- 
rogatively. 

“ It  will  be  the  worse  for  him,”  retorted  Shere  Ali.  “ We 
have  ways  to  make  men  open  their  mouths  he  little 
wots  of.” 

Hobson’s  determined  pursuit,  however,  left  Shere  Ali 
small  leisure  for  indulging  his  peculiar  methods  of  ques- 
tioning a prisoner.  If  the  dacoits  halted  for  long,  Hobson 
was  sure  to  disturb  them,  and  though,  in  consequence  of 
their  great  superiority  of  numbers,  he  was  cautious  in  his 
attacks,  still  he  never  failed  to  attack,  and  after  a sharp 
skirmish  Shere  Ali  and  his  followers  were  always  again 
rapidly  retreating.  It  was  in  vain  the  dacoit  chief  endea- 
voured to  urge  on  his  band  to  overwhelm  their  relentless 
foe.  It  was  useless.  The  robbers,  although  they  behaved 
well  enough  in  a skirmish,  could  not  be  brought  to  face  the 
Feringees  in  real  earnest.  The  pursuit  had  now  endured 
something  like  forty-eight  hours,  and,  as  Hobson  recog- 
nised, could  not  much  longer  be  maintained.  Both  men 
and  horses  were  getting  utterly  used  up,  and  the  one  ray  of 
hope  he  had  of  ultimately  capturing  Shere  Ali  lay  in  the 
fact  that  the  dacoits  he  knew  must  be  getting  nearly  as 
beat  as  his  own  people. 

Suddenly  he  began  to  suspect  bis  prognostications  were 


HOBSON  RECOVERS  THE  TRAIL. 


319 

realised.  They  came  to  a place  where  from  the  main  road 
two  smaller  tracks  diverged  through  the  jungle,  and,  as  the 
^ scouts  pointed  out,  from  the  footprints  of  the  horses  it  was 
evident  that  the  robbers  here  had  broken  into  three  parties. 
It  was  just  what  Hobson  feared.  Despairing  of  shaking 
off  his  persistent  pursuit,  Shere  Ali  had  commenced  to  dis- 
band his  followers.  The  hunted  dacoit  was  evidently 
afraid  to  divulge  the  secret  of  his  lair,  and  had  probably 
after  disbanding  his  men  sought  its  shelter  with  but  a few 
of  the  most  trusted.  Could  he  but  come  up  with  them 
now,  Hobson  thought,  his  capture  would  be  easier,  as  he 
had  little  doubt  his  own  party  far  outnumbered  that  of  the 
robber  chief;  but  which  of  these  three  tracks  to  take  ? they 
had  no  peculiar  mark  by  which  to  recognise  the  footprints 
of  his  horse  from  that  of  any  other  ; it  was  a sheer  toss-up, 
and  after  a brief  delay  Hobson  decided  to  follow  on  hap- 
hazard. Two  or  three  hours  more  steady  riding : the  men 
are  nodding  in  their  saddles,  the  tired  horses  biundering 
in  their  steady  jog-trot,  when  suddenly  they  emerged  from 
the  jungle,  on  a broad  highway  which  was  instantly  recog- 
nised as  the  main  road  from  Secunderabad  to  Nagpore, 
and  which  way  the  party  they  had  followed  had  taken, 
whether  they  had  gone  up  the  road  towards  Nagpore,  or 
down  the  road  towards  Secunderabad,  there  was  nothing 
to  show.  It  was  hopeless  to  carry  on  the  pursuit  further  ; 
a village  could  be  descried  not  a mile  away,  and  where 
there  was  a village  there  was  sure  to  be  water.  Hobson 
marched  his  troop  as  far  as  the  outskirts,  and  then  gave  the 
order  to  his  worn-out  men  to  bivouac  for  the  night. 

At  daybreak  the  next  morning  Hobson  was  awakened 
with  the  news  that  there  were  horsemen  coming  up  the 
road.  He  received  the  announcement  with  but  little 
interest ; it  was  not  likely  that  the  da«oits  would  move  for 
any  length  of  time  in  any  numbers  along  that  road,  and  he 
guessed  at  once  that  it  was  only  another  patrol  similar  to 
his  own.  A glance  through  his  field-glasses  at  once  con- 
firmed this,  with  the  trifling  exception  that  the  new-comers 
were  evidently  regular  cavalry,  and  not  mounted  infantry. 
When  they  had  arrived  within  a very  short  distance  the 
g£^cer  commanding  them  rode  forward,  and,  addressing 


320 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Hobson,  said:  **  I don’t  know  who  I have  the  pleasure  of 
speaking  to,  but  I presume  you  are  in  command  of  one  of 
the  patrols  in  pursuit  of  this  scoundrel  Shere  Ali.  We 
are  only  just  out  from  England,  and  have  been  packed  off 
to  join  in  the  hunt.” 

“Ah!”  replied  the  other,  wearily.  “I’ve  been  hunting 
him  for  months  and  months ; if  I had  but  come  across  you 
twenty-four  hours  ago.” 

“ Why — did  you  get  news  of  him  ? ” inquired  the  new- 
comer, with  interest. 

“ News  of  him  1 ” replied  Hobson.  “ I’ve  been  at  his 
heels  and  fighting  with  him  these  two  days.  Four  times 
I’ve  brought  him  to  bay,  but  his  numbers  just  saved  him 
from  destruction,  and  after  a short  skirmish  he  always 
bolted  again.” 

“ Both  your  men  and  cattle  lookt^as  if  they  had  had  a 
gruelling,”  said  the  new-comer,  as  he  compared  the  travel- 
stained,  way-worn  appearance  of  Hobson’s  band  with  his 
own  trim-looking  troopers. 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Hobson.  “ I drove  both  my  horses  and 
men  pretty  well  to  a standstill  yesterday.  The  worst  is 
that  crafty  devil  Shere  Ali  played  his  old  trick  on  us  tc 
finish  up  with.  He  broke  up  his  band  into  three  divisions, 
each  of  which  followed  a different  route,  and  it  has  ended 
by  our  losing  all  trace  of  him.” 

“By  Jove,  what  bad  luck!”  exclaimed  the  Dragoon. 
“ I wish  to  heavens  I had  come  across  you  a bit  sooner. 
By  the  way,  do  you  know  anything  of  a great  friend  of 
mine,  who,  like  yourself,  has  been  at  this  game  for  some 
months,  one  Charlie  Devereux  ? ” 

“ Devereux — my  God  ! Yes  ; he  is  my  subaltern,”  and 
Hobson’s  face  became  very  grave  and  stern. 

“ Then  I fancy  you  and  I know  each  other  perfectly  well 
by  name.  I am  Gilbert  Slade,  and,  if  I mistake  not,  you 
are  John  Hobson  ? ” 

“Yes,  I’ye  heard  plenty  about  you;  poor  Charlie  never 
tired  of  talking ” 

“Why' do  you  S3,y  poor  Charlie?”  interrupted  Slade, 
anxiously  ; “ he  has  not  been  killed,  has  he  ? ” 

“ No,  Slade,  worse  than  that  has  happened  to  him.  1 


HOBSON  RECOVERS  THE  TRAIL.  32 1 

believe  him  to  be  a prisoner  of  Shere  Ali’s  ; and  you've 
probably  heard  enough  of  that  monster's  brutalities  to 
know  what  that  means." 

Gilbert’s  face  fell.  All  that  side  the  country  was  alive 
with  stories  of  Shere  Ali’s  sanguinary  doings. 

“ I am  of  course  under  your  orders,"  he  said  at  length. 
“I  was  told  to  patrol  towards  Nagpore,  on  my  own  account, 
until  I fell  in  with  some  other  patrol,  and  then  to  take  my 
instructions  from  the  officer  commanding." 

“ Well,  you  can’t  do  better  than  halt  your  men  here,  and 
breakfast.  I must  try  and  get  some  information  out  of 
these  villagers  before  I move  on.  The  worst  of  it  is  this 
scoundrel  has  created  such  a reign  of  terror  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  induce  the  villagers  to  disclose  what  they  know. 
Generally,  a lavish  offer  of  rupees  would  suffice  to  make 
them  betray  any  dacoit  chief,  but  this  Shere  Ali  has  taken 
such  ferocious  vengeance  on  those  whom  he  has  detected 
giving  any  information  about  his  proceedings  that  they 
tremMe  at  the  very  sound  of  his  name  ; however,  I have 
sent  a sergeant  to  bring  out  the  khotwal  and  any  other  of 
the  leading  villagers  he  thinks  might  possibly  have  infor- 
mation,, and  I must  try  if  threats  and  bribery  will  do  any- 
thing with  them." 

Gilbert  Slade  looked  very  grave  wh^n  he  heard  that 
Charlie  was  in  the  hands  of  Shere  Ali.  It  would  have  been 
a terrible  thing  to  have  to  write  to  Lettie,  and  tell  her  that 
her  brother  had  fallen  in  a skirmish  with  a gang  of  dacoits, 
but  it  would  be  too  terrible  if  his  death  was  preceded  by 
the  infernal  cruelties  practised  by  Asiatic  robbers.  No,  he 
thought,  if  their  worst  anticipations  were  realised,  his 
family  should  be  at  all  events  spared  such  knowledge. 

It  was  not  long  before  Sergeant  Rivers  returned,  bring- 
ing with  him  some  half-dozen  of  the  leading  men  of  the 
village,  including  its  khotwal  or  headman. 

“ They  all  swear  they  know  nothing,  sir,"  said  the  ser- 
geant ; “ but,"  he  continued,  dropping  his  voice,  so  that 
only  Hobson  and  Slade,  who  was  sitting  by,  could  hear 
him,  ‘‘here  is  a huckster  among  them  who,  I think,  knows 
something,  and  might  be  brought  to  tell  it  if  you  see  him 
alone," 


322 


SADDLE  AND  SABHa 


“What  maksi  you  think  that,  Riyers?*'  inquired  his 
captain. 

“ Why,  when  the  interpreter  had  got  them  all  together, 
and  was  cross-questioning  them,  this  fellow’s  little  eyes 
twinkled  when  he  heard  that  many  rupees  would  be  given 
for  any  information  leading  to  the  capture  of  Shere  Ali. 
Like  the  rest  of  them  he  swore  he  knew  nothing  about 
him,  but  he  hung  about  the  doorway,  and  as  I came  out  of 
the  khotwal’s  house  he  said  in  a low  tone,  ‘ What  would 
the  sahib  give  to  catch  the  dacoit  chief?  * I answered  at 
once,  one  thousand  rupees;  but  he  shook  his  head  and 
muttered,  ‘ Not  enough,  it  is  too  dangerous,’  so  I said  to 
myself.  I’ll  just  bring  you  along  with  me,  my  man.” 

“ Quite  right,”  rejoined  Hobson,  “ I’ll  see  him  in  two  or 
three  minutes.” 

“ Smart  fellow  that  sergeant ! ” remarked  Slade.  “ Do 
you  think  he  is  right  in  his  conjecture  ? ” 

“ Quite  likely,  he  is  a shrewd  fellow ; he  has  been  for 
many  years  in  this  country  and  understands  the  natives 
thoroughly — he  speaks  their  tongue  too  a bit.” 

The  villagers  were  now  brought  one  by  one  before  Hob- 
son, beginning  with  their  headman,  who  was  sternly  in- 
formed that  Shere  Ali  had  been  traced  to  their  immediate 
vicinity,  that  there  were  a thousand  rupees  for  the  man 
whose  information  led  to  his  capture,  that  it  was  useless  to 
pretend  that  they  had  no  knowledge  of  him,  that  the 
Government  had  resolved  to  make  a severe  example  of  the 
first  village  found  sheltering  or  assisting  him,  and  that  he 
had  little  doubt  they  had  at  all  events  been  guilty  of  this 
latter. 

One  by  one  they  protested  by  all  their  gods  that  they 
had  no  knowledge  of  this  Shere  Ali,  that  they  loathed  his 
very  name,  that  he  spread  desolation  on  all  the  country 
round,  and  that  they  only  hoped  his  Excellency  would 
^speedily  deliver  them  from  this  wild  beast  who  devoured 
them.  One  by  one  they  were  dismissed  with  a recommend- 
^ ation  to  make  their  way  back  to  their  own  village,  and  a 
menace  that  they  would  live  to  pay  the  penalty  of  their 
obstinate  silence. 

“ Dogs  ye  are,  and  dogs*  deaths  ye  shall  die,”  thundered 


HOBSON  RECOVERS  THE  TRAIL. 


323 


Hobson  in  eastern  h5rperbole.  “ Your  tongues  hare  defiled 
the  truth,  and  you  know  that  you  have  lied  in  your  beards. 
Away,  back  to  your  village,  and  pray  that  I burn  it  not 
over  your  heads  ere  the  week  be  past.'* 

“ I say,”  said  Gilbert,  as  the  discomfited  villagers,  having 
now  permission  to  depart,  slunk  down  the  hill,  “ you  are 
giving  full  play  to  your  imagination,  aren’t  you  ? ” 

“Yes,”  rejoined  Hobson,  laughing,  “it’s  the  only  way 
to  talk  to  these  beggars.  I have  no  doubt  they  know  per- 
fectly well  where  Shere  Ali  has  betaken  himself,  but  they 
are  afraid  to  tell.  Their  own  rulers  will  not  only  threaten 
all  I have  done,  but  thoroughly  mean  it.  And  I fancy  in 
the  early  days  of  the  century  our  own  people  would  have 
done  the  same.” 

“ Still,”  said  Gilbert  Slade,  **  you  haven’t  got  a bit  of 
information  out  of  them  yet.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
with  this  last  man  ? ” 

“ Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,”  replied  Hobson,  “ a good 
deal  of  all  this  bombast  has  been  for  his  special  benefit. 
You  see  he  has  been  almost  within  earshot  all  the  time,  and 
has  been  purposely  given  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
his  fellows  after  I have  talked  to  them.  We’ll  have  him  up 
now,  and  if  I don’t  wring  something  out  of  him  I must 
fairly  own  I’m  beat,  and  the  following  of  Shere  Ali  will 
become  a mere  matter  of  chance;  and  yet,”  he  continued, 
lowering  his  voice,  “ there  never  was  such  reason  that  we 
should  follow  fast  upon  his  track.” 

The  bunnea  or  petty  trader  was  now  brought  before 
Hobson,  and  replied  to  the  latter’s  exordium  by  the  same 
protestations  of  ignorance  as  his  fellows,  except  that  he 
was,  if  possible,  even  more  profuse  in  such  asseverations. 
Hobson  listened  unmoved  until  he  had  finished,  and  then 
said  “Your  lies  are  useless.  You  have  asked  what  will  I 
give  to  know  where  I can  lay  hands  on  Shere  Ali.  Men 
don’t  ask  what  you  will  give  unless  they  have  something  to 
sell.  You  haggled  at  the  price,  and  say  it  is  too  dangerous.” 
“ My  lord  has  been  misinformed,”  exclaimed  the  bunnea, 
trembhngwith  terror. 

“ I think  not : unlucky  for  you  if  it  is  so.  You  had 
better  listen  attentively  to  what  I say.  1 shall  take  you 


324 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE, 


into  the  jungle  with  me.  If  I find  Shere  Ali  you  shall 
have  two  thousand  rupees,  and  I can  safely  promise  you 
need  never  dread  his  vengeance.  If  I don’t,*'  said  Hobson 
sternly,  “ I’ll  leave  you  in  the  jungle  for  the  crows  to  feed 
upon.” 

In  vain  the  wretched  bunnea  prostrated  himself  at  Hob- 
son’s feet,  while  the  sweat  streamed  down  his  brow  from 
absolute  terror, 

“ Take  him  away,”  said  the  latter  sternly,  “ and  let  him 
be  closely  guarded.  We'll  march  in  an  hour.” 


XLV.— Fur^edon  Leaves  England. 

Norman  SLADE  was  by  no  means  the  man  to  let  the 
grass  grow  under  his  feet  in  any  matter  of  business, 
more  especially  when  it  came  to  bringing  a criminal  to 
justice,  and  that  criminal  one  who  had  cost  him  a consid- 
erable sum  of  money.  No  sooner  had  he  got  a case  against 
Furzedon  complete  than  he  exerted  all  the  interest  he 
possessed  amongst  the  leading  men  of  the  Turf  to  induce 
them  to  make  the  Jockey  Club  take  the  matter  up,  and, 
averse  though  that  august  body  were  to  taking  cognisance 
of  an  affair  that  had  happened  so  many  months  ago,  and 
about  which  their  verdict — whatever  it  might  be — could  in 
reality  make  now  no  difference.  The  thing  was  done, 
stakes  and  bets  had  all  been  paid,  and  nothing  they  could 
possibly  do  could  undo  the  transaction.  Let  it  be  never 
so  great  a fraud,  let  it  be  never  so  shameful  a robbery, 
nevertheless  it  was  a thing  accomplished,  it  was  a fact  of 
the  past ; and  those  who  had  profited  by  it  must  keep  the 
gains,  and  those  that  had  lost  must  abide  by  their  losses. 

Quite  true,  argued  those  who  had  taken  up  the  case,  but 
on  the  same  principle  what  criminal  would  ever  be  brought 
to  justice?  The  murder  is  done,  the  felony  committed; 
the  life  cannot  be  restored,  nor  in  most  cases  the  goods 
recovered  I but  that  is  accounted  no  reason  why  the  per- 
petrators of  either  should  go  scatheless.  Then,  again,  the 


FURZEDON  LEAVES  ENGLAND. 


325 


Jockey  Club  sympathies  were  not  much  in  favour  of  Mr. 
William  Smith.  That  gentleman,  with  his  coarse  braggart 
tongue  and  inebriate  habits,  was  constantly  giving  great 
offence  and  using  the  grossest  language  to  their  officials ; 
except  to  those  pecuniarily  interested,  his  defeat  at  Epsom 
was  matter  of  much  gratulation.  But  the  persistency  of 
Norman  Slade’s  friends  prevailed,  and  it  was  at  last  de- 
cided that  the  case  should  be  duly  brought  before  the 
Jockey  Club  at  the  second  Spring  Meeting. 

But  when  Slade  marshalled  his  facts,  had  assembled  his 
witnesses,  and  due  notice  was  given  to  Ralph  Furzedon  of 
the  charges  intended  to  be  preferred  against  him,  and  an 
intimation  that  if  he  did  not  disprove  them  the  Jockey 
Club  would  have  no  other  course  to  pursue  but  to  punish 
such  misdeeds  to  the  extent  of  their  power,  an  answer 
came  back  from  his  solicitor  to  the  effect  “ that  Mr.  Furze- 
don had  been  suddenly  ordered  abroad  for  his  health ; that 
there  was  no  chance  of  his  return  for  some  months ; and 
that  he  must  request  that  all  proceedings  should  be  stayed 
until  his  client’s  return  ; that  he  felt  no  doubt  of  Mr. 
Furzedon’s  ability  to  rebut  them,  but  in  the  present  state 
of  his  health  it  would  be  impossible  to  return  to  England.” 
This  was  conclusive  ; in  a case  of  this  kind  it  was  useless 
to  proceed  against  a criminal  who  not  only  refused  to 
plead,  but  was  besides  beyond  the  bounds  of  jurisdiction. 
Even  Norman  Slade — though  a fierce  malediction  broke 
from  his  lips  as  he  did  so — admitted  that  it  was  useless  to 
proceed  against  a man  to  whom  the  sentence  of  the  court 
must  be  a mere  form. 

Furzedon  calculated  on  this  ; if  he  kept  well  out  of  the 
way,  the  prosecution  against  him — so  to  speak — would  be 
dropped.  Even  Norman  Slade  would  throw  up  his  brief 
when  he  found  there  was  no  criminal  to  place  in  the  dock. 
Another  year  and  the  whole  thing  would  be  thoroughly 
forgotten ; he  might  return  to  England.  And  though  he 
felt  for  a time  he  must  eschew  the  racecourse,  much  as  he 
loved  it,  yet  there  would  be  no  public  scandal.  It  might 
have  been  a little  talked  about  in  society,  but  probably 
only  to  a limited  extent.  Things  of  that  sort  were  but  a 
few  days*  wonder,  but  on  his  return  people  would  be  much 


325 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


more  curious  to  know  where  he  had  been,  and  what  he  had 
been  doing,  than  to  recall  that  unsavoury  story  concerning 
him  which  was  current  about  the  time  he  left. 

But,  if  Norman  Slade  was  bitterly  disappointed  at 
Furzedon  having  slipped  through  his  fingers,  there  was 
another  upon  whom  it  exercised  a perfectly  morbid  effect. 
The  hatred  of  years  was  concentrated  in  Prance’s  mind. 
That  thirst  for  vengeance  against  the  man  who  rightly  or 
wrongly  he  accused  of  the  ruin  of  his  home  and  his  life  he 
had  looked  upon  as  about  to  be  satiated,  and  now  once 
again,  after  all  his  patience,  toil,  and  trouble,  had  his 
enemy  proved  too  clever  for  him.  He  quite  pestered  Nor- 
man Slade  with  his  entreaties  that  he  should  persevere 
with  the  case ; it  was  in  vain.  Slade  told  him  it  was 
hopeless  to  think  that  the  Jockey  Club  would  go  into  such 
a bygone  matter,  unless  the  delinquent  could  be  brought 
before  them.  Prance  was  wild  at  the  idea  of  being  baulked 
of  his  vengeance,  and  Norman  could  not  but  wonder  what 
wrongs  he  had  received  at  Furzedon’s  hands  that  had  pro- 
voked such  undying  enmity.  He  remembered  the  man’s 
fierce  outburst  in  the  Paddock  at  Doncaster  when  he  had 
questioned  him  about  what  he  expected  to  get  for  the 
information  he  proffered,  and  at  the  last  interview  he  had 
with  the  half  frenzied  man  could  not  but  think  that  he 
should  not  count  his  own  life  very  safe  were  there  a man 
walking  about  bearing  such  deadly  enmity  towards  him. 

One  point  Mr.  Furzedon  was  considerably  out  in  his 
calculations.  The  history  of  his  antecedents  and  misdo- 
ings was  known  to  far  too  many  people  not  to  be  pretty 
widely  bruited  abroad.  Through  club  smoking-rooms  and 
West  End  drawing-rooms  the  story  of  how  last  year’s 
Derby  had  been  lost  was  freely  canvassed,  and  that  the 
chief  actor  in  that  audacious  robbery  should  have  been  one 
who  had  actually  contrived  to  appear  on  the  outskirts  of 
society  tickled  society  not  a little.  Young  men  who  found 
themselves  lifted  into  a temporary  importance  from  the  fact 
that  they  happened  to  know  Furzedon  were  cross-examined 
as  to  his  personal  appearance,  and  as  to  whether  they  really 
did  not  detect  from  his  manner  that  he  kept  a shop.  “ So 
shocking  you  know,  and  a pawnbroker’s  ^lop  too  1 ” that 


rURZEDON  LEAVES  ENGLAND. 


327 


iseful  but  retiring  business  being  regarded  in  a sinistei 
.ight  by  the  fashionable  world,  who  believe  its  dealings  to 
consist  chiefly  of  the  receiving  and  disposing  of  stolen 
property. 

Mrs.  Kynaston,  with  her  usual  astuteness,  at  once  made 
the  most  of  such  cards  as  Fortune  put  into  her  hand.  She 
went  about  posing  as  a perfect  martyr,  a sorely-tried  wo- 
man, whose  burden  was  almost  greater  than  she  could 
bear.  “ It’s  terrible,  my  dear,”  she  would  exclaim  plain- 
tively to  her  intimates,  “ to  think  that  we  knew  Mr. 
Furzedon  at  all,  but  I am  ashamed  to  say  we  knew  him 
very  well ; that’s  the  worst  of  racing.  Dick  is  so  fond  of 
it,  and  he  does  pick  up  such  queer  acquaintances  on  the 
Turf.  The  first  intimation  we  had  of  it  all  was  from  Mr. 
Slade  ; we  didn’t  know  him,  but  he  knew  that  Dick  and 
this  dreadful  man  were  mixed  up  in  some  racing  transac- 
tions together,  and  so  he  called  and  told  him  what  he  had 
discovered.  I need  scarcely  say  Dick  at  once  told  Mr. 
Furzedon  he  need  never  expect  to  set  foot  in  our  house 
again ; but  if  it  is  terrible  for  me,  what  must  it  be  for  poor 
Miss  Devereux  ? My  heart  quite  bleeds  for  her,  poor  girl ; 
she  was  engaged  to  him,  you  know.  I suppose  it  is  all  off 
now  ? Poor  Lettie,  it  is  very  sad  for  her.” 

The  result  of  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  wailings  was  that  the 
report  of  Lettie's  engagement  to  Furzedon,  which  had 
somewhat  died  away,  was  again  revived,  and  it  really  ran 
2.  chance  of  having  the  effect  that  lady  designed.  No  two 
men  could  be  more  thoroughly  up  in  the  talk  of  the  town 
than  Gilbert’s  two  uncles.  They  mixed  in  very  different 
sets,  and  neither  of  them  very  much  affected  ladies’  society  ; 
but  there  is  not  much  that  goes  in  the  London  world  that 
is  not  freely  discussed  in  the  club  smoking-rooms  ; and 
amongst  these  Major  Braddock  passed  a great  deal  of  his 
time,  while  at  the  chief  rendezvous  of  the  magnates  of  the 
Turf  it  was  well-known  that  the  latest  scandal  is  invariably 
served  up  red-hot.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  events, 
neither  Slade  nor  Major  Braddock  would  have  heard  this 
rumour — the  actors  in  it  were  not  of  sufficient  importance 
in  society  to  attract  attention  to  it  out  of  their  own  imme- 
diate  circle ; but,  thanks  to  the  threatened  charge  against 


SADDLE  AND  SABRB. 


328 

Furzedon,  anything  connected  with  him  became  of  greatei 
interest  when,  in  due  time,  it  came  to  their  ears.  Had 
they  not  both  had  some  knowledge  of  Miss  Devereux  it 
was  very  probable  that  they  would  have  written  to  Gilbert 
to  urge  him  to  pause  before  taking  to  wife  a damsel  who 
had  transferred  her  affections  with  such  wondrous  facility ; 
but,  as  it  was,  they  saw  no  call  for  interference ; and  so 
far  Mrs.  Kynaston’s  tattling  resulted  in  nothing  more  than 
considerable  annoyance  to  Mrs.  Connop,  who  was  con- 
stantly goaded  to  madness  by  the  commiseration  expressed 
by  her  friends  about  her  niece’s  disappointment. 

Prance,  ever  brooding  over  his  wrongs,  ever  hating,  ever 
thinking  of  this  man,  who  had  been  his  undoing,  deter- 
mined that  he  must  see  him,  that  he  must  leer  at  him,  flout 
him  with  his  social  downfall.  Cunning  and  astute,  he  had, 
known  that  if  his  vengeance  could  be  carried  no  further, 
the  utter  demolition  of  Ralph  Furzedon’s  social  pedestal 
would  be  very  bitter  to  that  gentleman,  and  a thing  over 
which  he  ccmld  gloat  with  much  satisfaction.  For  years 
he  had  hugged  the  idea  to  his  heart  of  ruthlessly  exposing 
Furzedon,  of  letting  the  world  know  generally  who  and 
what  this  young  gentleman  was  that  it  was  so  cordially 
receiving  to  its  bosom,  to  pitilessly  expose  the  family  from 
which  he  sprang,  the  way  in  which  he  and  his  progenitors 
had  earned  their  wealth  ; but  all  this  was  small  satisfaction 
unless  he  was  there  to  exult  over  his  victim  in  his  downfall. 
He  had  waited  patiently  because  he  feared  that  nobody 
would  pay  heed  to  his  allegations ; and  it  was  not  till  he 
had  tracked  out  Furzedon  in  a great  Turf  fraud  that  he 
deemed  he  could  command  a hearing.  Well ! he  had 
obtained  it,  and  now  in  the  hour  of  his  victory  Ralph 
Furzedon  had  fled  from  the  consequences  of  his  crime. 
Still,  Prance  was  aware  that  if  he  had  not  altogether  suc- 
ceeded in  publicly  exposing  Furzedon,  yet  he  had  done  so 
quite  sufficiently  to  ruin  him  socially.  There  had  been 
plenty  of  paragraphs  in  the  sporting  papers  with  allusions 
to  the  grave  charges  impending  against  a young  gentleman 
well  known  in  racing  circles.  Later  paragraphs  contained 
the  news  that  the  accused  had  left  the  country  sooner  than 
face  the  inquiry ; and  further  paragraphs  said  it  would  bo 


rURZEDON  LEAVES  ENGLAND. 


329 


absurd  to  conceal  the  name  of  the  delinquent,  and  there- 
fore published  it  boldly.  But  Prance  wanted  to  see  this 
man  in  his  downfall,  and  exult  over  him  in  the  hour  of  his 
defeat. 

A lucky  Ascot  had  put  Mr,  Prance  in  funds,  and  he 
determined  to  follow  Furzedon  abroad,  and  look  at  him,  as 
he  said  to  Norman  Slade  at  Doncaster  ; money  was  to  him 
as  nothing  to  the  luxury  of  revenge,  and  it  was  so ; it  had 
become  a mania  with  him  ; he  was  quite  prepared  to  exist 
on  the  bare  necessaries  of  life  if  he  could  only  feast  his  eyes 
on  Furzedon  thrust  out  of  all  decent  society,  and  driven  to 
associate  with  a class  of  Continental  adventurers  little 
superior  in  position  to  him,  Prance.  Ha  ! to  see  that ; to 
force  his  way  into  such  a set,  and  to  occasionally  indulge 
in  a gibe  at  the  man  who  had  struck  him  to  the  ground 
that  night  in  the  Haymarket ; ha  ! ha  ! that  would  be  worth 
living  for  ; to  keep  perpetually  wondering  how  such  a well- 
known  Turfite  as  Mr.  Furzedon  could  be  lingering  abroad 
while  Doncaster  and  Newmarket  were  going  on.  Ho! 
ho  I what  fun  that  would  be.  The  man  was  really  half 
crazy  on  the  point  of  his  inveterate  animosity  to  Ralph 
Furzedon. 

But  to  gratify  these  amiable  instincts  it  was  of  course 
necessary  that  Mr.  Prance  should  know  whither  Furzedon 
had  betaken  himself,  and  this  was  by  no  means  so  easy. 
Furzedon’s  dependents  of  all  sorts  were  far  too  well  trained 
to  babble  ; and  again,  he  was  a gentleman  who  made  no 
more  confidants  than  were  absolutely  necessary.  His  valet 
he  had  taken  with  him  ; the  old  woman  in  charge  of  his 
chambers  doubtless  had  no  knowledge  of  his  address  ; and, 
though  both  at  his  office  in  Northumberland  Street  and  at 
the  shop  a few  streets  higher  up  the  Strand,  they  were  sure 
to  be  aware  of  it,  yet  Prance  knew  better  than  to  suppose 
that  he  should  obtain  the  information  he  wanted  from  them. 
How  was  he  to  get  at  what  he  wanted  ? and  about  this 
Prance  was  fairly  beat ; but  he  was  a man  accustomed  to 
burrowing,  to  tracking  and  tracing  things  through  dirty  by- 
paths, to  obtaining  information — ofttimes  of  very  dubious 
value — in  manifold  queer  ways,  and  though  at  fault  for  the 
present  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would  remain  so  long.  A 


330 


SADDLB  AND  SABRB. 


good  hater,  like  a vengeful  Indian,  may  be  baffled  for 
thet  ime,  but  it  is  difficult  to  throw  him  altogether  off 
the  trail. 

Mr.  Prance  cogitated  over  this  for  some  time,  and  for 
the  life  of  him  could  hit  upon  no  solution  to  the  problem. 
At  last  an  idea  struck  him.  Furzedon’s  letters  were  proba- 
bly addressed  in  the  first  instance  to  the  office  in  North- 
umberland Street,  and  from  thence  sent  on  to  him  by  his 
confidential  clerk.  No  sooner  had  he  settled  this  in  his 
own  mind  than  Prance  slipped  down  to  Northumberland 
Street  about  the  time  he  knew  the  office  would  be  closing. 

He  loitered  outside  until  he  saw  Mr. , the  head  clerk, 

whom  he  knew  perfectly  well  by  sight,  come  out  and  walk 
away.  Then  he  rung  at  the  bell,  and  the  door  was  opened, 
as  he  expected,  by  the  charwoman,  who  was  about  to  sweep 
out  the  office.  His  covenant  with  her  w'as  short  and  sim- 
ple. For  a trifling  consideration  the  contents  of  the  waste- 
paper  basket  were  to  be  carefully  preserved  and  delivered 
to  him  daily. 

For  some  days,  carefully  though  Prance  studied  the  torn 
papers  that  the  charwoman  handed  over  to  him,  it  was 
with  no  result,  but  the  clue  was  found  at  last.  One  morn- 
ing, as  he  went  carefully  through  them,  he  suddenly  espied 

an  envelope  torn  in  two  addressed  to  Mr. , in  Furzedon’s 

well-known  hand.  The  postmark  on  the  envelope  told  him 
partly  what  he  wanted  to  know.  Furzedon,  then,  was  at 
Brussels ; but  it  was,  of  course,  possible  that  he  might  not 
be  staying  there  under  his  own  name.  If  the  envelope  was 
torn  up  it  was  likely  that  the  letter  inside  it  had  been  torn 
up  too.  He  continued  his  search,  and  soon  discovered  that 
this  was  the  case.  What  the  contents  of  the  letter  might 
be  he  cared  very  little  about ; but,  for  all  that,  he  put  the 
pieces  together,  and,  as  he  anticipated,  arrived  at  Furze- 
don’s address.  That  gentleman’s  letters  were  to  be  for- 
warded to  Henry  Jackson,  Poste  Restante^  Brussels.  This 
was  quite  sufficient  for  Prance ; with  that  clue  to  go  upon 
he  felt  quite  certain  of  speedily  tracing  his  man  to  his  har- 
bour of  refuge — and  without  delay  the  monomaniac  started 
for  the  Belgian  capital. 


•LET  HIM  BE  GIVEN  TO  THE  FLIES.^ 


331 


XLVI. — “Let  Him  be  given  to  the  Flies/* 

CHARLIE  DEVEREUX,  meanwhile,  who  is  hurried 
along  by  his  captors  in  a manner  that  taxes  his  ex- 
hausted strength  severely,  cannot  as  yet  complain  of  any- 
thing worse  than  being  rather  roughly  treated.  He  could 
hardly  expect  much  courtesy  from  men  like  his  captors, 
more  especially  while  they  were  being  much  harassed  in 
their  retreat  by  his  comrades.  It  was  quite  clear  to  him 
that  his  life  hung  upon  a thread — not  on  account  of  the 
Rohilla’s  sabre-stroke,  he  felt  pretty  confident  he  should 
get  over  that — but  the  scowling  brows  and  menacing  ges- 
tures directed  towards  him  by  the  dacoits  after  each  of 
these  little  skirmishes  between  themselves  and  Hobson’s 
troops  showed  too  plainly  that  his  hour  might  come  any 
minute.  In  fact  it  was  nothing  but  the  influence  of  Has- 
sam  that  had  saved  his  life  so  far,  and  to  what  caprice  he 
owed  his  intervention  Charlie  could  not  possibly  conjec- 
ture. Jealously  guarded,  he  could  see  but  little  of  what 
went  on,  but  the  firing  told  him  whenever  Hobson  and  his 
men  came  up  with  their  fleet-footed  foe. 

At  last  came  a hurried  halt,  and  Charlie  made  out  that 
the  robbers  had  broken  up  into  three  parties,  that  the  one 
with  which  he  remained  was  apparently  under  the  com- 
mand of  the  Rohilla,  and  what  had  become  of  Shere  Ali 
Charlie  was  unable  to  ascertain.  From  this  out  Devereux 
heard  no  more  of  his  own  people.  They  might  be  still 
following  the  robbers  for  all  he  knew ; but,  at  all  events, 
their  rifles  w’ere  silent.  Their  road,  as  far  as  he  could 
make  out,  seemed  to  grow  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
jungle.  Another  thing  that  struck  him  was,  that  they 
were  diminishing  in  numbers,  and  certainly  soon  after 
they  broke  into  three  parties  they  materially  relaxed  the 
speed  at  which  they  travelled. 

His  captors  showed  no  disposition  to  converse  with  him, 
and,  indeed,  as  far  as  he  knew,  were  unable  to  do  so. 
Charlie  had  picked  up  but  very  little  Hindostanee,  and 
except  from  Hassam  he  had  heard  no  word  of  English 
escape  their  lips.  As  for  the  Rohilla,  Devereux  suspected 


33^ 


SADDLB  AND  SABRa 


that  he  could  speak  English  fairly  well  if  he  chose : so  far 
he  had  confined  himself  to  brief  inquiries  as  to  whether  he 
suffered  much  from  his  wound,  and  to  occasionally  ren- 
dering some  rough  assistance  in  readjusting  the  bandages. 
At  length  they  indulged  in  a halt  of  much  greater  duration 
than  ordinary,  and  from  various  signs  Charlie  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  robbers  had  now  no  fear  of  pursuit, 
and  were  besides  nearing  their  destination.  Hassam’s 
band  had  dwindled  down  now  to  little  over  a score — how 
or  when  the  others  had  disappeared  Devereux  did  not 
know,  but  they  had  been  melting  like  a snowball  ever 
since  the  dacoits  had  broken  into  three  bodies,  the  fact 
being  that  the  marauders  were  dispersing  to  their  own 
homes,  leaving  behind  them  only  the  faithful  few  privileged 
to  accompany  Shere  Ali  to  his  stronghold. 

Of  all  Shere  Ali’s  subordinates  there  was  none  he  placed 
more  dependence  upon  than  Hassam,  and  it  is  doubtful 
whether  any  other  could  have  stood  between  young  Deve- 
reux and  his  end  but  him.  Even  Hassam  knew  that  he 
had  purchased  but  a temporary  respite  for  his  prisoner, 
and  it  was  open  to  question  whether  that  grisly  old  ma- 
rauder desired  more ; though  by  no  means  so  cruel,  he 
was  quite  as  ruthless  as  his  chief,  and  held  strongly  to  the 
creed  that  the  dead  tell  no  tales.  He  thought  that  a good 
deal  of  the  information  they  wanted  ought  to  be  wrung 
from  the  young  English  officer,  and  that  once  got,  well,  it 
was  as  easy  to  give  him  his  passport  for  another  world  as 
not.  The  difference  between  the  robber-chief  and  his  lieu- 
tenant was  this,  the  Rohilla  would  not  hesitate  to  torture 
a captive  to  gain  his  object,  but  Shere  Ali  would  torture 
his  victims  from  sheer  cruelty. 

Devereux  had  by  this  time  abandoned  his  palanquin, 
and  been  placed  astride  on  a rough  country  pony,  one  of 
those  clever,  wiry  little  ‘‘  tats,”  who  do  a wondrous  lot 
of  work  upon  a minimum  of  corn.  He  noticed  that  they 
seemed  to  have  plunged  deeper  into  the  jungle  than  ever, 
the  very  semblance  of  a road  seemed  to  have  been  l®st, 
and  their  path  could  only  be  described  now  as  a mere 
track.  Suddenly  they  emerged  from  the  jungle  upon  a 
species  of  oasis,  upon  the  far  side  of  which  was  a singular 


LET  HIM  BE  GIVEN  TO  THE  FLIES. 


333 


group  of  rocks,  and  around  their  base  flowed  a small  water- 
course, tranquil  enough  just  now,  but  probably  a torrent 
in  the  rainy  season ; beyond  the  rocks  was  more  jungle. 
Before  crossing  this  grassy  oasis  Devereux  had  time  to 
study  this  caprice  of  nature ; it  looked  like  a natural 
citadel,  of  which  the  huge  rock  in  the  centre  might  be  the 
key,  and  its  smaller  surrounding  brethren  the  outworks. 
This  was  the  stronghold  of  Shere  Ali.  Halting  his  men 
for  a few  minutes  just  within  the  verge  of  the  jungle  Has- 
sam  rode  forward  and  discharged  'two  pistol-shots  into  the 
air.  Devereux  looked  on  with  much  curiosity  to  see  the 
result  of  the  signal,  for  such  it  evidently  was.  Another 
minute  and  a single  shot  was  discharged  from  the  group 
of  huge  limestone  boulders,  and  then  Hassam  and  his 
party  rode  gaily  forward. 

The  stream  running  in  front  of  the  rocks  was  easily 
fordable,  and,  having  crossed  it,  they  turned  between  two 
of  the  smaller  boulders  and  ascended  the  rocky  path  which 
led  up  to  the  king-stone  of  this  singular  group.  Devereux 
noticed  that  the  smaller  rocks  were  honeycombed  with 
caves,  partly  natural,  but  many  of  them  had  evidently 
been  enlarged  by  the  hand  of  man.  At  last  they  turned 
through  a fissure  in  the  side  of  the  chief  rock,  which,  to 
Devereux’s  great  astonishment,  instead  of  being  solid,  was 
in  the  centre  hollow,  after  the  manner  of  a tooth.  Around 
this  curious  platform  in  the  middle  were  the  entrances  to 
several  caverns,  all  of  which,  though  natural  to  begin  with, 
had  evidently  been  considerably  enlarged  artificially;  in 
short,  the  place  had  been,  in  years  long  gone  by,  a species 
of  Buddhist  monastery,  now  it  was  the  home  of  the  dacoit, 
and  before  then,  perchance,  of  the  tiger ; where  his  priest 
had  formerly  invoked  Buddha,  now  the  victims  of  Shere 
Ali  shrieked  their  lives  out  under  the  tortures  this  mis- 
creant inflicted  under  pretext  of  extorting  confessions  of 
hidden  hoards  which  they  did  not  possess. 

This  natural  fortress  had  evidently  been  the  retreat  of 
the  robbers  for  some  time ; many  of  the  caves  had  been 
turned  into  store-houses,  and  some  of  the  larger  ones  into 
stables,  and  it  was  quite  evident  to  Devereux  that,  if  they 
had  only  command  of  water,  a small  body  of  men  might 


334 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


hold  out  for  a considerable  time  against  much  superior 
numbers.  Still,  that  would  avail  Shere  Ali  little,  let  his 
stronghold  be  only  once  discovered ; and  then  Charlie 
reflected  sadly  how  well  its  secret  had  been  kept,  and  how 
long  the  dacoit  chief  had  baffled  his  pursuers.  He  was 
thrust  into  a small  cell  with  a stern  intimation  from  Has- 
sam  that  if  he  crossed  its  threshold  without  permission  he 
did  so  at  his  peril.  As  far  as  he  could  make  out,  the  place 
at  present  was  occupied  only  by  Hassam’s  party,  and  what 
had  become  of  Shere  Ali  he  was  unable  to  conjecture;  but 
he  felt  pretty  certain  that  he  was  not  within  the  citadel. 
He  could  see  that  the  robbers  maintained  in  their  way  a 
severe  discipline,  the  Rohilla’s  word  was  obeyed  without 
question  by  his  strange  medley  of  followers.  The  ruffianly 
crew  seemed  to  have  been  gathered  from  men  of  all  races 
common  to  the  Peninsula.  There  were  some  whose  sol- 
dierly bearing  gave  good  grounds  for  supposing  they  were 
among  those  who,  like  their  leader,  had  been  false  to  their 
salt  during  the  past  Mutiny,  but  many  of  them  had  pro- 
bably taken  to  the  road  from  their  youth  upwards.  Food 
and  water  were  furnished  him  with  a liberal  hand,  and, 
though  he  was  apparently  but  slightly  guarded,  Devereux 
knew  that  he  was  jealously  watched ; moreover,  so  far  as 
he  knew,  the  only  way  out  of  this  singular  amphitheatre 
was  the  narrow  path  by  which  they  had  entered,  and  two 
or  three  of  the  dacoits  armed  to  the  teeth  lingered  night 
and  day  about  that.  Still,  Charlie  thought  that  if  any 
feasible  chance  of  escape  presented  itself  he  was  bound 
to  attempt  it.  He  could  but  be  killed,  and  that  that  would 
be  his  fate  a little  later  he  had  no  reason  to  doubt ; in  fact 
it  puzzled  Charlie  why  it  was  that  his  life  was  spared 
so  long. 

Their  first  day  in  the  rocks  the  dacoits  seemed  deter- 
mined to  compensate  themselves  for  the  fatigues  of  their 
late  rapid  march.  They  gave  themselves  up,  after  the 
manner  of  their  kind,  to  eating  and  drinking,  sleep  and 
tobacco — usually  the  sole  pleasures  left  to  those  who  elect 
to  live  by  preying  on  their  fellows : and  the  second  day 
they  were  more  on  the  alert,  and  Hassam  more  than  once 
ascended  a rough  staircase  which  led  to  the  top  of  th^ 


•let  him  be  given  to  the  flies.' 


335 


great  honeycombed  rock  which  formed  their  shelter. 
Devereux  had  gathered,  partly  from  the  few  words  he 
caught  and  partly  from  their  gestures,  that  they  were 
expecting  the  arrival  of  their  leader ; and  when  the  after- 
noon sun  sank  low  in  the  heavens  the  tramp  of  horses  on 
the  narrow  path  became  plainly  audible : a few  minutes 
more  and  Shere  Ali,  with  about  a dozen  followers,  made 
their  appearance  on  the  rocky  platform.  Devereux  was 
struck  with  what  a very  small  number  of  the  dacoits  had 
gained  their  stronghold ; he  felt  sure  that  they  were  in  much 
greater  force  than  when  he  and  his  comrades  first  came  up 
with  them.  It  was  of  course  difficult  to  estimate  their 
numbers  in  the  jungle,  but  Charlie  had  believed  that  there 
were  quite  three  hundred  of  them  when  their  first  attack 
was  made,  which  had  terminated  so  disastrously  for  him- 
self. He  did  not  believe  that  Hobson’s  incessant  attacks 
had  occasioned  such  loss  as  the  disproportion  between 
their  present  and  then  numbers  might  have  been  supposed 
to  indicate.  Then  he  began  to  speculate  upon  how  Shere 
All’s  return  would  affect  himself — little  doubt,  he  thought, 
but  what  his  fate  would  be  speedily  determined  now ; then 
he  wondered  whether  his  comrades  were  still  upon  the 
track  of  the  marauders.  He  reckoned  that  Hobson  could 
only  have  about  fifty  men  with  him  now,  for  several  he 
knew  fell  in  that  first  skirmish ; and  it  was  not  likely  that 
others  had  not  shared  the  same  fate  in  the  succeeding  ones. 
Shere  Ali  had  between  thirty  and  forty  with  him,  and  the 
natural  defences  of  the  place  were  such,  that,  even  if 
tracked  to  his  lair,  the  struggle  between  him  and  his  assail- 
ants would  probably  be  both  bloody  and  protracted. 

Devereux  was  kept  but  little  time  in  suspense ; half  an 
hour  after  the  dacoit  chief’s  arrival  in  his  citadel  his  cave 
was  entered  by  some  half  dozen  of  the  robbers,  and  he  was 
roughly  escorted  into  the  presence  of  Shere  Ali.  The  ban- 
, dit’s  face  wore  its  most  savage  expression.  Hobson’s 
stubborn  pursuit  had  irritated  him  not  a little,  and  his  fury 
had  been  thoroughly  roused  by  finding  it  hopeless  to 
induce  his  followers  to  fairly  face  the  hated  Fering|ees 
He  had  led  them  on  himself  twice  in  the  most  reso  uto 
fashion;  for,  merciless  though  he  was,  he  possessed  the 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


336 

one  attribute  of  animal  courage.  But,  as  it  had  been  in 
the  Mutiny,  so  it  was  now ; and,  in  spite  of  preponderance 
of  numbers,  the  Asiatic  could  rarely  be  induced  to  face  the 
Englishman  hand  to  hand. 

He  was  sitting  at  the  door  of  the  cave  which  he  retained 
as  his  own  private  residence,  surrounded  by  Hassam  and 
four  or  five  more  of  his  principal  lieutenants.  A gleam  of 
ferocious  exultation  flashed  across  his  face,  and  the  savage 
dark  eyes  lit  up  with  devilish  cruelty  as  he  fixed  his  gaze 
upon  Devereux. 

“ Ha  1 ha  ! he  laughed  at  last ; “ so  this  is  the  dog  of 
a Feringee  you  persuaded  me  to  spare,  Hassam.  Your 
arm  grows  feeble,  old  friend ; your  sword  was  wont  to  do 
its  work  cleaner.  Answer  me  this,  Englishman : not  as 
you  hope  to  live,  but  as  you  hope  to  escape  agonies  that 
will  make  you  welcome  death  as  a boon  and  a blessing. 
How  many  parties  of  your  hated  race  are  there  out  in  pur- 
suit of  me  ? ” 

Devereux  made  no  reply. 

“ Dog,  do  you  hear  what  I say  ? ” 

“ A soldier  answers  no  questions  put  to  him  by  the 
enemy ; and  an  Englishman  knows  how  to  die.” 

“ And  an  Asiatic  knows  how  to  kill.  Fool ! before  the 
morrow’s  sun  has  set  you  shall  pray  to  your  gods  for  death. 
Away  with  him,  and  let  him  be  given  to  the  flies.” 

Charlie  Devereux  was  in  merciful  ignorance  of  the  hor- 
rible death  to  which  Shere  Ali’s  ruthless  words  consigned 
him ; in  a trice  he  was  seized,  conducted  down  the  narrow 
pathway,  carried  some  two  hundred  yards  out  into  the 
little  oasis,  on  the  edge  of  which  the  rocky  citadel  stood. 
There  he  was  stripped ; and  then,  his  captors  having 
driven  some  short  stakes  into  the  ground,  they  proceeded 
to  bind  him  hand  and  foot  to  the  said  stakes,  the  result  of 
their  labours  being  that  Devereux  was  left  stretched  flat 
on  his  back  on  the  ground,- with  his  arms  extended  after 
the  manner  of  a man  crucified,  unable  to  move  hand  or 
foot,  and  with  only  the  power  of  slightly  turning  his  head. 
That  done,  with  a brut^  laugh  the  robbers  retreated  into 
their  own  stronghold. 

Devereux  speedily  began  to  realise  the  horrible  death  to 


THE  ROCKS  OF  RUGGERBUND. 


335 


which  the  dacoits  had  consigned  him  ; the  sun  was  almost 
down,  so  for  the  present  he  was  spared  the  tortures  of  the 
fierce  glare  that  must  to-morrow  shine  down  upon  his  up- 
turned face  ; but  Charlie  quickly  became  aware  that  the 
jungle  was  alive  with  creeping  things,  for  which  his 
defenceless  form  had  become  a playground.  The  stings, 
the  bites,  and  the  irritation  caused  by  this  army  of  flies, 
mosquitoes,  centipedes,  etc.,  gradually  became  maddening, 
and  as  the  night  wore  on,  the  fever  occasioned  by  it  natur- 
ally excited  a terrible  thirst,  a frightful  craving  for  water, 
than  which  there  is  no  infliction  more  hard  to  bear.  With 
the  hours  of  darkness  came  the  bark  of  the  jackal ; and 
soon  Devereux  became  conscious  that  several  of  these 
creatures  were  not  only  at  hand,  but  were  stealing  cau- 
tiously up  to  him  as  a subject  well  worthy  of  investigation. 
He  could  have  cried  aloud  almost  in  his  agony,  but  he 
grimly  swore  the  dacoits  should  not  have  that  satisfaction ; 
and  then  he  realised  Shere  Ali’s  threat.  He  felt  that  he 
was  strong  yet,  and  that  he  could  look  forward  to  hours  of 
thirst  and  this  frightful  irritation  before  death  released  him. 
Every  bone  in  his  body  seemed  to  be  one  prolonged  ache, 
from  the  enforced  inability  to  shift  his  position.  He  felt 
that  the  jackals  were  coming  nearer  and  nearer ; they  were 
smelling  at  his  feet;  every  moment  he  expected  their  sharp 
teeth  would  meet  in  his  flesh.  Suddenly  came  a sharp  yap 
from  one  of  their  number,  who  was  still  some  l^tle  way  off. 
Another  second,  and  they  were  scuttling  away  in  all  direc- 
tions. What  had  alarmed  them  he  could  not  guess,  but  at 
all  events  he  was  relieved  for  the  present  from  one  of  the 
\iorrors  of  his  position. 


XLVII. — The  Rocks  of  Ruggerbund. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  hour  bugle  and  trumpet  rang 
out  “ boot  and  saddle ; ” the  mounted  infantry  and 
dragoons  at  once,  under  Hobson’s  orders,  turning  upon  the 
former’s  previous  tracks,  once  more  plunged  into  the 
jungle,  carrying  with  them  the  unhappy  bunnea  as  a 
captive* 


338 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


“ I am  going  back,”  said  Hobson,  “ to  the  spot  where  I 
ivas  beat  and  lost  all  trace  of  Shere  Ali.  The  road  there 
splits  into  three  paths,  the  one  of  these  three  paths  that  we 
followed  brought  us  on  to  the  main  road ; I am  convinced 
that  Shere  Ali  was  not  with  that  party.  That  band,  I 
should  imagine,  dispersed  as  soon  as  it  touched  the  high- 
way. It  is  little  likely  that  they  would  have  dared  travel 
in  the  force  they  were  along  the  main  road  to  Nagpore. 
Had  they  turned  the  Secunderabad  way  you  must  have 
met  them.” 

“ Quite  true,”  said  Slade,  **  and  I am  perfectly  sure  no 
such  body  as  half  a score  has  passed  us  on  the  road.” 

Hobson  smiled ; he  had  not  passed  years  in  hunting 
Pandies,  Rohillas,  dacoits,  and  all  such  riff-raff  for  nothing. 
He  had  not  much  faith  in  these  newly-arrived  English 
dragoons  when  their  wits  came  to  be  pitted  against  the 
subtlety  of  the  Asiatic. 

“ This  leaves  us,”  he  continues,  “ a choice  of  two  roads ; 
which  of  those  two  I am  to  follow  depends  upon  that 
bunnea’s  decision.  Charlie  Devereux’s  life  hangs  upon  a 
thread,  and  by  the  living  God  if  I arrive  too  late  I’ll  keep 
my  word  with  that  miserable  huckster.” 

‘‘You  surely  don’t  mean  that  you’ll  put  in  force  what 
you  threatened  ? ” said  Gilbert. 

“ You  are  new  to  these  people,  Slade.  You  can’t  quite 
understand  what  we  went  through  during  the  Mutiny 
times.  And  your  eyes  are  hardly  open  yet  to  what  may  be 
poor  Devereux’s  fate  unless  our  help  comes  speedily.  You 
don’t  know,  perhaps,  so  much  of  this  Shere  Ali  and  his 
doings  as  we  who  have  been  hunting  him  for  months.  If 
I was  sure  that  wretched  huckster  was  withholding  from 
me  the  information  that  I require,  I would  flay  him  alive. 
As  it  is,  if  he  tampers  with  me  in  any  way  he  shall  never 
leave  that  jungle  alive,  for  I’ll  shoot  him  with  my  own 
hand.” 

Gilbert  said  nothing,  but  he  was  tortured  with  the  idea 
of  what  poor  Charlie’s  fate  might  be,  and  recognised  at 
once  that  his  leader  was  one  of  those  stern  determined 
natures  that  thoroughly  understood  his  savage  foe,  and 
was  perfectly  competent  to  cope  with  him* 


THE  ROCKS  OF  RUGGERBUND- 


339 


The  bunnea  in  the  meantime,  arrant  knave  and  coward 
as  he  was  at  the  bottom,  was  not  quite  plunged  in  that 
abyss  of  despair  and  terror  that  he  pretended.  Frightened 
he  was,  no  doubt.  He  was  of  a timid  and  a cautious 
nature.  Nothing  but  the  greed  of  gold  had  led  him  to  open 
his  lips  to  the  extent  that  he  did  before  Sergeant  Rivers. 
He  could  not  resist  asking  what  was  the  reward  of  treach- 
ery. He  could  not  help,  with  all  his  trading  instincts  upon 
him,  seeking  to  know  whether  what  he  had  got  to  sell 
would  not  fetch  a still  higher  price.  He  had  got  his 
answer ; he  had  found  that  it  would  fetch  double.  It  may 
be  still  questioned  whether  he  would  have  had  the  courage 
to  be  tempted  even  by  so  high  a bait ; but  the  white  sahib 
had  peremptorily  taken  the  whole  thing  out  of  his  hands  ; 
he  was  a prisoner,  and  threatened  with  all  sorts  of  pains 
and  penalties  if  he  did  not  divulge  what  he  knew.  On  the 
one  hand  was  the  terrible  vengeance  of  Shere  Ali,  on  the 
other  immediate  punishment  by  the  white  sahib  should  he 
refuse  to  do  his  bidding.  Cunning,  though  cowardly,  the 
more  the  bunnea  turned  the  thing  over  in  his  own  mind, 
the  more  convinced  he  was  that  the  betrayal  of  Shere  Ali 
tended  most  to  his  safety  and  profit.  If  he  guided  the 
Feringees  to  the  stronghold  of  the  robbers,  the  result 
would  probably  be  the  capture  of  the  great  dacoit  chief, 
and  then  he  thought  the  band  might  be  so  effectually 
broken  up  that  he  would  have  little  to  fear  from  their  ven- 
geance. . Then  again,  was  he  not  offered  two  thousand 
rupees  to  point  out  the  way  ? His  mouth  watered  at  the 
bare  idea ; yes,  decidedly  he  would  speak. 

When,  upon  arrival  at  the  place  where  the  three  roads 
met,  Hobson  ordered  his  prisoner:  to  be  once  more  brought 
before  him,  and  sternly  demanded  which  of  those  roads 
led  to  Shere  Ali’s  place  of  refuge. 

Prostrating  himself  at  Hobson’s  feet,  the  bunnea  ex- 
claimed, “ If  my  lord  will  hold  to  his  promise,  give  me  the 
two  thousand  rupees  he  has  promised  me,  and  then  let  me 
go  free,  I will  tell  him  all  I know.” 

“ You  shall  have  the  reward  and  go  free  the  minute  you 
have  led  me  to  Shere  Ali’s  fortress,  and  I have  convinced 
myself  that  he  is  still  there ; where  is  he  ? " 


340 


SADDLE  AND  SABRa 


“ My  lord,  the  dacoits  are  concealed  in  the  Rocks  of 
Ruggerbund,  and  the  path  to  the  right  will  lead  you  to 
them/' 

“ The  Rocks  of  Ruggerbund,”  exclaimed  Hobson ; “ it  is 
odd  I never  heard  of  them,  and  yet  I thought  I knew  all 
this  country  well,  too.” 

“ They  were  famous  many  hundreds  of  years  ago,  and  it 
was  said  many  holy  men  lived  in  them,  but  they  are  little 
known  now.” 

“ Do  you  think  that  fellow  is  speaking  the  truth  ? ” said 
Slade. 

‘‘  Yes.  At  all  events  it  will  be  the  worst  day’s  work  he 
ever  did  if  he  is  not ; take  him  to  the”  front,  Rivers,  and 
now  let  us  push  forward  as  quick  as  we  can.” 

After  some  hours'  riding  the  party  arrived  at  the  open 
plain  on  the  further  side  of  which  rose  the  curious  Rocks  of 
Ruggerbund.  Hobson  instantly  ordered  a halt  under 
cover  of  the  trees,  and  then,  after  surveying  the  brigand’s 
stronghold  through  his  field-glasses  for  some  minutes,  gave 
orders  that  men  and  horses  should  keep  themselves  care- 
fully concealed,  and  above  all  that  there  must  be  no  noise. 

“ That’s  a very  tough  nut  to  crack,  Slade,”  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  rocks,  “ and  Heaven  knows  how  many  of 
his  rapscallions  that  scoundrel  Shere  Ali  has  got  with  him, 
but  we  must  have  it  at  any  cost.” 

“ My  fellows  are  downright  wolfish  to  get  a chance,” 
replied  Gilbert ; “ they  know  that  their  old  officer  is  in  the 
dacoits'  hands,  and  your  men  have  been  enlightening  them 
a little  upon  the  way  Shere  Ali  treats  his  prisoners.” 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Hobson,  “ there's  no  fear  but  what 
they’ll  come  on  fast  enough  when  they're  wanted.  The  first 
question  is  what  is  the  best  chance  of  saving  Devereux’s 
life  ; the  second,  how  to  carry  that  place  with  as  little  loss 
of  life  as  possible.” 

“ To  save  Charlie’s  life  is  the  main  thing.  I suppose 
your  fear  is  that  they’ll  murder  him  the  minute  they  catch 
sight  of  us.” 

**  Just  so;  the  sun  is  all  but  down,  and  I think  our  best 
chance  will  be  to  steal  across  the  open  in  the  dark,  and 
then  to  rush  the  rocks  at  the  first  glimmer  of  daybreak,” 


tHE  ROCKS  OF  RUGGERBUND. 


34i 


Anxiously  did  Slade  and  Hobson  sweep  the  half-mile  of 
open  that  separated  them  from  the  rocks.  They  could  see 
the  robber  sentinel  on  the  summit  of  the  king  rock  as 
clearly  as  possible.  Their  men  were  silent,  watchful  and 
observant  as  themselves.  They  knew  that  Mr.  Devereux’s 
life  depended  on  the  rapidity  and  dexterity  of  their  attack. 
He  had  been  popular  with  both  corps,  and  the  mounted 
rifles  had  in  addition  a long  score  of  weary  marching  and 
counter-marching  to  reckon  up  with  the  human  tigers  whom 
they  had  at  last  tracked  to  their  lair.  The  sun  dipped 
below  the  horizon  with  that  plunge  that  characterises  his  , 
setting  in  the  East,  and  it  was  night  ; lit  up  as  yet  only  by 
the  fireflies,  and  sung  only  by  the  trumpeting  of  the  mos- 
quito and  the  chirruping  of  the  innumerable  insect  tribe. 
The  stars  twinkled  slowly  forth,  but  there  was  no  moon  ; 
moreover,  a declivity  of  the  ground  sheltered  the  doings  of 
the  robbers  as  they  emerged  from  the  base  of  their  citadel ; 
the  consequence  was  that,  keenly  as  the  eyes  of  his  friends 
had  scanned  the  intervening  space  between  them  and  the 
Ruggerbund  Rocks,  they  could  see  nothing  of  Devereux’s 
so-to-speak  crucifixion.  There  he  lay  staked  to  the  ground 
literally  within  their  sight,  had  it  not  been  for  the  darkness, 
Then  came  the  rising  of  the  moon,  the  bark  of  the  jackal, 
and  the  melancholy  wail  of  more  than  one  of  the  denizens 
of  the  jungle,  to  break  the  silence  of  an  eastern  night. 

“ We  must  wait  till  that  confounded  moon  is  down,” 
said  Hobson,  and  as  soon  as  it  is  I shall  creep  across 
with  my  men,  in  skirmishing  order,  and  be  as  much  round 
this  side  of  those  rocks  as  I can  before  daybreak.  We 
must  both  leave  a few  men  behind  to  take  care  of  the 
horses  ; you’ll  then  bring  the  main  body  of  your  fellows, 
massed  just  in  rear  of  my  centre.  At  daybreak  you  and 
your  men  must  carry  the  entrance  to  the  main  rock.  I 
shall  immediately  collect  my  men  together,  and  follow  on 
to  the  fort.” 

“ All  right  1 ” said  Gilbert,  quietly.  “ We  shall  get  in, 
never  fear  ; at  all  events,  if  my  fellows  are  beaten  back  you 
may  look  upon  it  I’m  past  praying  for.” 

A single  hand-grip  was  exchanged  between  the  two  men, 
and  then  came  that  tedious  business  of  watching  for  the 


34^ 


SADDLtC  AND  SABINE 


disappearance  of  the  moon,  as  they  had  watched  for  the 
setting  of  the  sun. 

All  orders  were  given,  and  every  man  amongst  the  little 
command  knew  exactly  what  was  expected  of  him.  At 
last  the  moon  waned,  and  gradually  died  out.  The  thick 
darkness  which  precedes  daybreak  covered  the  plain  as 
Hobson  and  his  men,  emerging  from  the  jungle  in  skir- 
mishing order,  crept  stealthily  across  it.  Some  fifty  yards 
behind  their  centre  came  Slade  at  the  head  of  his  dis- 
mounted troopers.  Slowl)"  they  stole  forward,  and  there 
was  no  sign  that  the  robbers  had  any  conception  of  their 
presence.  Suddenly  the  word  was  passed  in  muffled  tones 
up  the  line  that  the  Captain  was  wanted. 

‘‘  What  is  it,  Rivers  ? ” inquired  Hobson,  in  a low  tone, 
as  that  active  non-commissioned  officer,  who  had  been 
leading  the  skirmishers  on  the  extreme  right,  at  last  gained 
the  centre. 

“ We’ve  found  Mr.  Devereux,  sir,’’  exclaimed  Rivers,  in 
an  awe-struck  whisper. 

“ Alive  ? ” asked  Hobson,  anxiously. 

“ Yes,  sir ; the  devils  seem  to  have  treated  him  shame- 
fully. He’s  a bit  off  his  head,  and  a case  for  the  doctors ; 
but ” 

‘‘  That’ll  do,”  interposed  Hobson,  sharply  ; “pass  the 
word  to  halt  along  the  line  ; now  take  me  to  him.” 

When  Hobson  came  to  where  his  men  had  discovered 
Charlie  he  found  his  luckless  subaltern  in  a high  fever,  and 
wandering  in  his  talk.  The  soldiers  had,  of  course,  at  once 
severed  his  shameful  bonds ; but,  weak  from  his  previous 
wound,  the  misery  and  tortures  of  his  horrible  position  had 
proved  too  much  for  him.  Fever  had  come  on,  and  he 
was  now  talking  wildly  and  at  random.  A fierce  maledic- 
tion broke  from  under  Hobson’s  moustache  as  he  learned 
in  what  state  Charlie  Devereux  had  been  found.  “ Carry 
him  back  at  once,”  he  said,  “ to  the  shelter  of  the  jungle  ; 
and — ha  ! surely  that  is  the  first  streak  of  light.  Before 
the  sun  is  well  up  we  will  settle  with  those  hell-hounds 
inside.” 

Once  more  the  word  was  given  to  advance,  when  sud- 
denly a shot  from  the  rocks  told  that  they  were  discovered. 

Forward  the  stormers  I ” rang;  out  Hobson’s  voice,  in 


THE  ROCKS  OF  RUGGERBUND. 


343 


reply.  Keep  your  men  well  in  hand,  Captain  Slade,  till 
you  are  close  up  to  the  rock ; and  then,  good  luck  to  you  ! 
Sound  the  fire  bugle,”  and  in  another  instant  a score  of 
rifles  rang  out  that  the  half-dozen  dacoits  were  visible 
against  the  sky-line  in  the  dim  gray  of  the  morning, 

Slade  and  his  men  in  the  meantime  marched  rapidly 
across  the  short  space  that  intervened  between  themselves 
and  the  fissure  in  the  rock,  now  plainly  visible.  They 
suffered  but  slightly,  for  the  hot  fire  kept  up  by  Hobson’s 
sharpshooters  prevented  the  dacoits  from  effectively  using 
their  muskets  on  the  advancing  foe. 

“ Now,  lads,  follow  me ! ” exclaimed  Slade,  as,  waving 
his  sabre,  he  dashed  up  the  pathway  followed  by  his  troop- 
ers, but  the  wasps’  nest  was  by  this  time  thoroughly  aroused, 
and  at  the  first  bend  of  the  road  where  the  path  enlarged  a 
little  they  were  confronted  by  Hassam.  Quick  as  thought 
Gilbert  dashed  at  the  Rohilla,  and  a fierce  and  furious 
melee  at  once  occurred  between  the  dacoits  and  the  troop- 
ers, sabres  flashed  and  revolvers  cracked  for  a few  minutes. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  Hassam  found  that  he  had  encoun- 
tered a more  formidable  foeman  than  Charlie  Devereux. 
Young,  powerful,  and  a good  swordsman,  with  the  advan- 
tages of  height  and  reach,  the  contest  between  Slade  and 
the  Rohilla  was  short,  and  Gilbert  passed  his  sword  through 
the  latter’s  body,  just  as  he  felt  something  like  the  sear  of 
a hot  iron  about  his  own  ribs. 

At  the  fall  of  Hassam  the  robbers  gave  way,  and  Gilbert 
and  his  troopers  followed  close  upon  them,  so  as  to  give 
them  no  chance  of  re-forming,  but  they  soon  rallied  under 
the  command  of  another  chief,  who  now  suddenly  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  Gilbert,  who  was  under  the  impression 
that  he  had  slain  Shere  Ali  when  he  ran  Hassam  through 
the  body,  was  somewhat  puzzled  at  this  new  apparition, 
but  the  English  slowly  won  their  way  upwards  despite  the 
desperate  resistance  of  the  dacoits,  now  led  by  Shere  Ali  in 
person.  By  this  time  Slade  and  his  men  had  fought  their 
way  into  the  little  amphitheatre  which  formed  the  interior 
of  the  king  rock,  and  there  a terrible  struggle  took  place 
between  the  soldiers  and  the  bandits ; looking  upon  it  as 
hopeless  to  ask  for  quarter,  they  died  like  rats  in  a trap, 
showing  their  teeth  to  the  last.  Shere  Ali  and  some  six  of 


344 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE 


eight  of  the  men  were  all  that  were  left.  Once  more  Gil- 
bert, his  sabre  red  with  carnage,  rallies  his  men  for  a last 
charge.  As  he  dashes  in  at  their  head  a bullet  from  the 
robber  chief’s  pistol  smashes  his  sword-arm,  which  drops 
useless  by  his  side.  Shifting  his  sabre  to  his  left  hand, 
Gilbert  still  cheers  his  men  on — suddenly  Shere  Ali  springs 
back  into  the  mouth  of  a cave  to  which  he  has  been  driven, 
and  disappears  ; another  minute  or  two  and  Slade  and  his 
troopers  pour  into  the  cave  in  pursuit  of  the  daring  chief 
whom  they  now  have  no  doubt  is  Shere  Ali  himself.  It  is 
difficult  at  first  to  penetrate  the  obscurity  of  the  cave,  but 
when  they  do  it  is  empty.  In  vain  do  they  peer  and  poke  their 
way  into  the  darkest  recesses  of  the  cabin,  their  prey  has 
escaped  them,  it  seems  as  if  the  earth  has  swallowed  Shere  Ali. 

Suddenly  a wild  English  hurrah,  followed  by  a shot  or 
two,  breaks  upon  the  morning  air.  The  sounds  come  from 
the  outside  of  the  rock,  and,  though  not  exactly  knowing 
what  they  mean,  Slade  trusts  that  it  heralds  the  capture  of 
the  dacoit  chief.  He  had  seen  nothing  of  Hobson  since  he 
gave  him  orders  to  storm  the  rocks.  That  sagacious 
veteran,  having  much  experience  of  the  wiliness  of  dacoits, 
had  suspected  that  they  had  probably  an  exit  from  their 
citadel  on  the  far  side. ' Detaching  half  his  men  to  Gil- 
bert’s support  he  had  at  once  crept  round  with  the  other 
half  to  watch  the  narrow  strip  of  open  that  lay  between  the 
rocks  and  the  jungle  on  that  side ; his  craftiness  was 
rewarded,  for  some  few  minutes  after  the  firing  had  ceased 
inside  the  rock  which  proclaimed  that  Slade  had  overcome 
the  garrison,  some  bushes  parted,  and  from  a fissure  which 
they  concealed  appeared  the  robber  chief.  Discharging 
his  pistols  in  the  face  of  his  foes,  the  robber  made  a deter- 
mined dash  for  the  jungle,  but  a rifle  bullet  in  the  leg 
stretched  him  on  the  ground,  and  the  notorious  Shere  Ali 
was  at  last  in  the  hands  of  his  pursuers. 


XLVHI. — Prance’s  Vengeancb. 

SAM  PRANCE,  on  his  arrival  in  Brussels,  had  but  a 
vague  idea  of  what  form  his  vengeance  was  to  take. 
He  wanted  to  find  Furzedon  ; he  wanted  to  taunt  him  ovor 


FRANCE'S  VENGEANCE 


34S 


his  social  discomfiture ; to  jeer  at  him,  and  to  gloat  over 
his  humiliation ; to  proclaim  it  as  far  as  possible  before 
those  who  for  the  present  might  be  Furzedon’s  associates; 
but  further  than  that  he  had  as  yet  conceived  no  plan. 
Brooding  over  his  wrongs  had,  no  doubt,  warped  the  man’s 
mind ; he  had  set  his  heart  upon  seeing  his  enemy  thrust 
off  the  Turf.  His  failing  to  accomplish  that  end,  to  which 
he  had  striven  so  hard,  had  turned  his  very  soul  to  verjuice. 
There  remained  for  him  now  but  one  thing  to  do,  to  avenge 
himself  on  the  man  who  had  ruined  his  life,  and  to  taunt 
him  ere  consummating  that  vengeance,  as  the  Indian 
squaws  do  the  brave  that  is  tied  to  the  stake.  The  first 
thing  to  do  was  to  discover  where  Furzedon  had  taken  up 
his  abode ; and  that  to  a man  of  Prance’s  researches  was 
not  difficult.  It  was  but  to  watch  the  poste  restante  daily. 
He  had  a very  fair  knowledge  of  Furzedon’s  habits,  and 
could  make  a rough  guess  as  to  within  what  hour  he  would 
be  likely  to  call  for  his  letters.  Two — three  days  elapsed  ; 
but  on  the  third  the  patient  watcher  was  rewarded : Ralph 
Furzedon  entered  the  post-office,  and  after  a few  minutes 
emerged  again,  thrusting  his  letters  into  his  coat-pocket  as 
he  did  so.  It  was  easy  from  thence  to  follow  Furzedon  to 
his  own  lodgings  over  a shop  in  the  Montargis  dc  Cour ; 
and  that  point  once  ascertained  Prance  felt  that  he  was 
master  of  the  situation.  It  was  easy  for  him  now  to  keep 
watch  and  ward  over  Furzedon’s  outgoings  and  incomings: 
to  follow  him  to  his  favourite  restaurant,  to  trace  him  to 
his  accustomed  haunts,  and  to  choose  his  own  terms  for 
publicly  denouncing  him  as  a Turf  outlaw,  who  dare  not 
show  his  face  in  England;  and  from  that  out — utterly 
unknown  to  himself — Furzedon’s  steps  were  perpetually 
dogged  by  this  pale-faced  monomaniac.  Prance,  as  such 
men  do,  was  simply  nursing  his  opportunity ; he  chuckled 
to  himself  at  the  power  he  possessed,  at  the  knowledge  that 
he  could  bring  the  object  of  his  hatred  to  shame  at  any 
moment ; as  an  epicure  dallies  with  a dainty  dish,  so  did 
Prance  linger  over  his  revenge.  The  great  cxposk  could 
come  but  once ; he  so  gloated  over  the  idea  that  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  precipitate  it.  Habited  in  decent 
garments,  and  knowing  so  well  that  the  truth  of  what  ha 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


346 

had  to  allege  was  a thoroughly  recognised  fact  by  the 
majority  of  the  racing  world,  even  if  not  proven,  it  never 
occurred  to  Prance  that  it  was  possible  that  the  word  of  a 
nobody  like  himself  might  be  poohpoohed  when  put  against 
that  of  a wealthy  man  like  Furzedon.  Nursing  his  revenge, 
still  chuckling  in  his  heart  at  the  moment  when  he  was  to 
expose  the  plausible  author  of  his  ruin,  day  by  day  Prance 
dogged  the  heels  of  his  quarry  He  had  found  out  the 
restaurant  that  Furzedon  chiefly  affected,  and  in  which 
he  seemed  to  have  established  himself  as  the  head  of  a little 
clique,  and  a great  authority  on  all  matters  connected  with 
Sport'*;  and  there  he  decided  that  he  would  snatch 
the  mask  off  the  impostor,  and  let  these  gentlemen  know 
that  the  man  they  bowed  down  to  dared  not  show  his  face 
on  Newmarket  Heath.  Mr.  Prance  had  money  in  his 
pocket,  and  the  Restaurant  des  Trois  Aigles  knew  no  dis- 
tinction of  persons.  As  long  as  you  were  decently  dressed 
and  had  napoleons  in  your  pocket,  any  vacant  table  was 
at  your  disposal.  The  evening  came  at  last  which  Mr. 
Prance  had  marked  out  for  the  discomfiture  of  his  enemy. 
Strolling  in  a little  before  the  time  at  which  Furzedon 
usually  dined,  he  took  a table  in  his  immediate  vicinity ; 
and  then,  taking  a chair  in  front  of  the  restaurant,  awaited 
the  course  of  events.  He  had  not  to  wait  long.  As  he 
expected,  Ralph  Furzedon  and  three  or  four  of  his  inti- 
mates shortly  made  their  appearance  ; and,  entering  the 
restaurant,  took  their  places  at  the  somewhat  elaborate 
table  prepared  for  them.  The  party  were  apparently 
English.  At  all  events  their  conversation  was  conducted 
in  that  language;  and  it  was  quite  evident  that  Furzedon 
was  some  one  in  authority  amongst  them.  Prance  averted 
his  face  as  they  moved  up  the  room,  and  was  now  sitting 
with  his  back  to  them,  so  that  he  had  altogether  escaped 
Furzedon’s  notice. 

It  was  curious  how  his  intense  longing  to  avenge  himself 
on  his  enemy  had  mastered  his  better  judgment.  He  had 
always  felt  that  for  him  to  denounce  Furzedon  would 
be  useless  ; that  gentleman  would  simply  laugh  at  him  as 
the  pariah  of  the  betting-ring  he  was  ; but  the  disappoint- 
ment he  had  experience  when  Furzedon  left  the  country 


PRANCE'S  VENGEANCE. 


347 


had  churned  his  hatred  up  to  very  madness.  He  with  diffi- 
culty contained  himself  until  the  convives  were  in  the  midst 
of  their  dinner  : he  sat  trembling  with  passion,  and  nerv- 
ously emptying  glass  after  glass  of  wine  in  his  excitement. 
At  last  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and,  springing  to  his 
feet,  exclaimed,  ‘‘  Gentlemen,  you  don’t  know  the  sort  of 
blackguard  you’ve  allowed  to  sit  at  table  with  you.  That 
scoundrel,”  he  cried,  pointing  to  Furzedon,  “ is  a horse- 
poisoner,  a man-poisoner,  a fellow  that,  if  he  had  not  fled 
from  England,  would  have  been  kicked  off  the  Turf. 

Gentlemen  in  England  don’t  speak ” but  here  the  flood 

of  ]\Ir.  Prance’s  eloquence  was  interrupted  by  a wine-glass, 
which  was  shivered  at  his  forehead  ; and  in  another  second 
Furzedon,  springing  to  his  feet,  peremptorily  called  upon 
the  waiters  to  “ put  that  drunken  thief  out  of  the  room.” 

By  this  time  the  commotion  had  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  whole  room.  That  the  landlord  and  his  servitors 
should  at  once  take  part  against  the  stranger  was  only 
natural.  Furzedon  and  his  friends  were  well-known  custom- 
ers, who  spent  their  money  lavishly.  Bleeding,  struggling, 
asseverating,  Mr.  Prance  speedily  found  himself  thrust  into 
the  street,  with  a strong  intimation  that  any  further  dis- 
turbance on  his  part  would  result  in  his  being  handed  over 
to  the  police.  Furzedon  turned  round  with  an  easy  smile 
to  his  companions,  who  were  all  more  or  less  of  racing 
tendencies,  and  said,  “ A broken-down  welsher,  with  whom 
I have  a long-standing  quarrel.  I’ve  had  him  put  out  of 
the  Ring  on  two  or  three  occasions.  I don’t  know  what  he 
is  doing  here  ; but  if  he  has  come  over  for  the  races,  I can 
only  advise  you,”  he  concluded,  laughing,  “ not  to  bet  with 
him.”  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  this  incident,  if  it  were 
possible,  still  further  intensified  Prance’s  animosity  : he 
brooded  day  and  night  over  his  imaginary  wrongs,  and 
speedily  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  his  injuries  must  be 
avenged  by  his  own  right  hand.  From  that  out  he  dogged 
Furzedon  like  a shadow ; wherever  he  went  Prance,  shrink- 
ing discreetly  from  notice,  was  watching  him  ; he  dogged 
him  to  his  lodgings  at  night  ; prowled  on  his  footsteps, 
whether  he  went  to  the  opera  or  to  the  dinner-table,  ever 
watching  his  foe  with  fierce,  malignant  eyes,  waiting  pati« 


348 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


ently  within  convenient  view  of  the  door,  when  Furzedon 
disappeared  into  buildings  into  which  he  deemed  it  inex- 
pedient for  him  to  follow.  Norman  Slade  might  well  say 
he  shouldn’t  care  to  have  so  vindictive  a foe  at  large  were 
he  in  Furzedon’s  place.  He  was  right,  for  since  he  had 
been  flung  out  of  the  restaurant  Prance  was  always  armed. 

He  had  quite  made  up  his  mind,  he  was  determined  to 
kill  Furzedon  as  soon  as  a favourable  opportunity  was 
vouchsafed  him.  When  a man  resolves  to  slay  his  fellow, 
and  is  utterly  reckless  of  his  own  life,  nothing  short  of 
marvellous  good  fortune  can  save  the  doomed  victim.  He 
is,  perhaps,  more  at  the  murderer’s  mercy  in  the  very 
centres  of  civilisation  than  in  the  wild  plains  of  Western 
America,  in  the  desert,  or  in  South  Africa.  In  these  latter 
cases  he  is  ever  on  his  guard  against  enemies  ; but  in  the 
capitals  of  Europe  one  hardly  expects  to  carry  one’s  life  in 
one’s  hand.  But  Furzedon  was  a man  of  gregarious  habits  ; 
he  was  seldom  alone,  and  for  some  days  he  unwittingly 
avoided  attack  from  this  circumstance.  At  length  he  re- 
ceived a letter  from  Mr.  Sturgeon,  desiring  instructions 
about  some  rather  intricate  business  matters  that  had  just 
cropped  up  ; and,  with  a view  to  thinking  them  well  over, 
Furzedon  lit  his  cigar,  and  started  for  a walk  on  the  outer 
boulevards. 

The  pale  gray  shadow  of  Thanatos  stalks  behind  us  from 
our  cradle,  but  at  what  distance  it  is  mercifully  not  given 
us  to  know.  Sometimes,  when  being  near  at  hand,  years 
may  elapse  before  he  claims  his  own.  At  others  when 
exulting  in  the  full  pride  of  our  strength  he  is  at  our  very 
heels  with  upraised  hands.  Little  dreamt  Furzedon  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold  of  his  lodgings  that  bright  summer 
morning  that  the  Destroyer  had  marked  him  for  his  prey, 
and  was  rapidly  closing  in  upon  him.  Prance  was  as  usual 
on  his  ceaseless  watch,  and  had  followed  after  his  wont  on 
the  steps  of  his  foe,  more  doggedly  resolved  than  ever  to 
make  an  end  of  this  man  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  and 
utterly  careless  of  what  the  consequences  might  be  to  him- 
self. One  thing  only  he  hesitated  about,  he  knew  that 
physically  Furzedon  was  the  more  powerful  of  the  two, 
and  whether  really  courageous  or  no  he  further  knew  that 


PRANCE’S  VENGEANCE. 


349 


Jit  all  events  Furzedon  was  not  afraid  of  him.  Prance’s 
sole  fear  was  a fiasco.  The  bare  idea  that  an  attempt  to 
kill  his  enemy  might  result  in  such  discomfiture  as  we  have 
seen  twice  befell  him  at  Furzedon’s  hands  made  him  wince 
again.  No  ; there  must  be  no  mistake  about  it  this  time — 
a life  for  a life  he  was  willing  to  give,  but  Furzedon  must 
die.  Stealthily  he  kept  his  victim  in  view,  as  he  had  done 
scores  of  times  in  the  last  two  or  three  weeks,  and  for  the 
first  time  saw  him  with  savage  exultation  betake  his  way 
to  the  comparative  solitude  of  the  boulevards.  Furzedon 
walked  moodily  along,  puffing  at  his  cigar,  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  absorbed  in  thought.  He  had  come  out  to 
think,  and  he  was  busy  at  it — no  thought  of  Prance  had 
crossed  his  mind  since  the  scene  at  the  restaurant ; he  had 
never  caught  sight  of  him  since,  and  would  have  scoffed  at 
the  idea  of  such  an  outcast  being  able  to  work  him  harm. 

This  opportunity  had  come  at  last,  and,  though  not 
flinching  for  one  moment  from  his  purpose,  it  seemed  to 
Prance  not  quite  so  easy  of  accomplishment  after  all.  The 
boulevards,  although  thinly  peopled,  were  of  course  not 
deserted  ; it  was  easy  to  keep  Furzedon  in  view,  but  at  the 
same  time  to  approach  him  closely  was  to  run  the  chance 
of  immediate  recognition.  He  slunk  along  about  fifty  paces 
in  the  rear,  but,  tightly  as  he  clutched  the  pistol  within  his 
breast,  he  never  dreamt  of  risking  a shot  at  that  distance. 

“ Pshaw  ! ” he  muttered  to  himself,  “ have  I not  waited 
days  for  this  chance  ? have  I turned  coward  ? is  my  nerve 
failing  me  ? It  is  time  to  make  an  end  of  this,”  and,  quick- 
ening his  pace.  Prance  rapidly  though  stealthily  drew  near 
his  unconscious  victim. 

Not  above  a dozen  steps  behind  him  now,  he  drew  the 
pistol  from  his  breast,  stopped,  and  was  about  to  shoot  his 
enemy  down  from  behind,  when  from  sheer  accident  Furze- 
don turned  suddenly  in  his  walk,  and  confronted  him  face 
to  face.  For  a second  Prance  hesitated,  but  Ralph  Furze- 
don, whatever  else  he  might  be,  was  a man  of  courage  and 
decision.  He  recognised  Prance ; he  saw  the  pistol,  and 
took  in  the  situation  at  a glance.  This  man  meant  to  kill 
him.  Quick  as  lightning  he  dashed  in  at  his  foe,  deter- 
mined  to  close  with  him,  and  neutralise  if  possible  the 


350 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


power  of  that  pistol.  Prance  hurriedly  fired  at  him,  and 
Furzedon  felt  that  he  was  hit ; the  second  bullet  whistled 
past  him  at  such  close  quarters  that  it  was  a miracle  it 
only  went  through  his  hat  instead  of  his  head ; and  then 
Furzedon  closed  with  his  assailant.  He  was  but  slightly 
wounded,  and  was  far  the  more  powerful  man  of  the  two. 
The  struggle  between  them,  if  brief,  was  desperate.  The 
one  was  battling  for  his  life,  the  other  mad  with  the  lust  of 
revenge ; but  Prance’s  pistol-hand  was  powerless  now. 
Once  more,  indeed,  the  revolver  cracked  harmlessly  in  the 
air;  and  then  Furzedon  succeeded  in  wrenching  it  from 
his  antagonist’s  hand  and  throwing  it  away ; but  he  stuck 
to  his  man  with  the  pertinacity  of  a bull-dog,  and  in 
another  two  or  three  minutes  had  borne  him  backwards, 
and  the  pair  fell  to  the  ground  together — Prance  under- 
most. All  the  brutal  passions  of  Furzedon’s  instincts  were 
aroused,  and  with  his  clenched  fists  he  rained  a shower  of 
blows  on  the  unhappy  wretch’s  countenance,  and  speedily 
made  it  hardly  recognisable. 

I’ve  a great  mind  to  kill  you,  you  cowardly  hound,”  he 
growled,  between  his  set  teeth.  “ I’ve  a right  to  do  it ; you 
did  your  best  to  murder  me.  Don’t  dare  to  get  up  till  I 
tell  you.”  And  as  he  spoke  Furzedon  rose  from  the  body 
of  his  prostrate  foe,  and,  stepping  two  or  three  paces  back, 
began  to  take  stock  of  what,  damages  he  had  received  in 
the  encounter. 

Already  a small  crowd,  attracted  by  the  shots,  were 
hurrying  to  the  scene  of  the  conflict.  Deeming  his  foe  dis- 
armed, and  a little  distracted  by  the  ejaculations  and 
questions  rapidly  addressed  to  him  by  the  new-comers, 
Furzedon  took  his  eyes  off  his  assailant,  who  had  by  this 
raised  himself  to  a sitting  posture.  Suddenly  Prance 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  drawing  a knife  from  his  breast, 
hrew  himself  upon  Furzedon,  exclaiming  with  almost  a 
ihriek,  as  he  buried  his  knife  twice  in  Furzedon’s  chest, 
“ Done  my  best  to  kill  you  ; not  yet,  but  I will  now.”  And 
as  Furzedon  fell  lifeless  to  the  ground,  flourished  his  blood- 
stained weapon  in  the  face  of  the  horrified  spectators,  and 
then,  with  a burst  of  maniacal  laughter,  buried  it  in  bis 
pwn  throat. 


CONCLUSION. 


351 


Conclusion. 

The  fray  was  over,  there  was  nothing  now  but  to  reckon 
up  the  cost  and  fruits  of  victory.  The  dacoits  had 
died  hard,  and  fought  like  wild  cats  in  their  rocky  den, 
and  the  state  in  which  Charlie  Devereux  had  been  found 
had  not  inclined  the  hearts  of  the  soldiers  to  mercy. 
There  were  marvellously  few  prisoners,  and  amongst 
Slade’s  troopers  the  casualties  also  had  been  heavy.  It 
had  required  all  Hobson’s  authority  to  save  Shere  Ali’s 
life,  and  the  robber  chieftain  had  good  reason  to  feel  little 
grateful  for  his  preservation  ; he  knew  it  was  forfeited,  and 
thought  rightly  it  would  have  been  as  well  to  make  an  end 
of  it  amidst  the  Rocks  of  Ruggerbund,  sword  in  hand,  as  to 
be  hanged  in  the  face  of  the  multitude,  which  fate  he  was 
well  aware  was  in  store  for  him.  The  doctor’s  report  too 
was  somewhat  serious ; he  told  Hobson  that  many  of  the 
wounded  were  bad  cases,  and  it  was  desirable  to  get  them 
within  the  shelter  of  a regular  hospital  as  soon  as  might 
be.  “ Captain  Slade,”  he  continued,  “ will  soon  be  all 
right,  his  arm  is  broken  by  a pistol-shot,  and  he  has  one 
or  two  slight  flesh  wounds.  It  will  be  some  time  before  he 
recovers  the  use  of  his  sword-arm,  but  one  can  feel  easy 
about  him.  I only  wish  I could  say  as  much  for  some  of 
the  others.” 

^ What  about  Mr.  Devereux  ? ” asked  Hobson  anxiously. 
“Ah ! that’s  serious,”  replied  the  doctor,  “ it  must  be  a 
touch  and  a go  with  him  ; he  seems  weak  as  a rat  from  his 
wound,  which  has  never  been  properly  attended  to,  and 
these  wretches  have  driven  him  into  a raging  fever  to  wind 
up  with.  It  is  a question  whether  he  will  have  strength  to 
pull  through  that ; anyway,  the  sooner  I can  get  my  sick 
back  to  the  cantonments  the  better.” 

Hobson  had  accomplished  his  mission,  and  after  giving 
his  men  a few  hours’  rest,  and  thoroughly  ransacking  the 
robbers’  stronghold,  he  started  with  his  prisoners  aaad 
wounded  for  the  nearest  cantonment,  where  he  received 
much  congratulation  on  his  capture  of  the  ferocious  bandit, 
whom  a military  tribunal  shortly  relegated  to  the  death  ha 
bad  80  well  deserved* 


352 


SADDLE  AND  SABRE. 


Charlie  Devereux’s  battle  for  life  was  long  and  painful. 
More  than  once  the  doctors  thought  he  v/as  gone,  and 
nothing  but  the  most  unwearied  care  and  attention 
snatched  him  from  the  very  jaws  of  death.  When  at  last 
the  delirium  left  him  he  was  so  weak,  so  utterly  prostrated 
in  mind  and  body,  that  the  doctors  unhesitatingly  agreed 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  send  him  home. 

^ “ Let  him  go  round  the  Cape,”  said  the  medical  officer 

who  had  principal  charge  of  him.  “A  long  sea-voyage 
will  do  more  to  set  him  on  his  legs  than  anything  else,” 
and  as  Gilbert  Slade,  though  doing  well,  was  still  unfit  for 
duty,  it  was  arranged  that  the  two  friends  should  proceed 
to  England  together. 

“ Good-bye,  Devereux,”  said  Hobson,  as  he  shook  hands 
with  his  subaltern.  “ English  air,  and  especially  English 
beef,  will  soon  put  you  all  to  rights.  My  dream  wasn’t 
quite  accurate,  which  I attribute  to  the  fact  of  my  never 
having  seen  Shere  Ali.  It  was,  however,  most  unpleasantly 
near  the  truth.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Charlie,  with  a faint  smile,  “ I was  destined 
to  be  cut  down  by  a dacoit,  but  whether  it  was  Shere  Ali 
or  one  of  his  lieutenants  made  little  difference.” 

The  news  of  Furzedon’s  death  offered  a facility  for  the 
arrangement  of  Charlie  Devereux’s  affairs,  which  Major 
Braddock  at  once  took  advantage  of.  Furzedon’s  heirs 
had  no  desire  to  continue  the  bill-discounting  business,  and 
were  only  too  glad  to  accept  the  money  due  to  them,  with 
a reasonable  rate  of  interest.  That,  although  Mrs.  Kynas- 
ton  gave  free  vent  to  her  malicious  tongue,  and  would  have 
prevented  the  marriage  of  Gilbert  Slade  and  Lettie  had 
she  been  able,  it  is  needless  to  say ; but,  for  all  that,  the 
two  were  made  man  and  wife  a few  months  after  the 
former  landed  in  England,  Charlie  Devereux  being  suffi- 
ciently recovered  to  enact  best  man  on  the  occasion.  The 
breakfast  took  place  at  Mrs.  Connop’s  house  ; and,  as  that 
lady  had  consulted  Major  Braddock  on  the  occasion,  it 
was  pronounced  a great  success ; that  distinguished  officer 
having  thrown  himself  into  the  affair  with  great  energy, 
and  been  at  immense  pains  to  see  that  the  champagne  was 
of  an  unexceptionable  brand,  and  “ not  that  usually  kept 
for  wedding  breakfasts,  my  boy,” 


/ 


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